Bop it.

I don't know why I do this, but at night when everyone else is in bed asleep I come to the computer and look at pictures, tonight I clicked on the link "Book of Memories" and watched your pictures fade in and out.  There is a place on there where people have left notes and I saw one from Amy.

Amy's name reminded me when the three of us shared that house on Polk Blvd.  She had this "bop it toy" and we played games and just laughed and laughed.  I remember when you & I left that house & moved to San Diego the only comment our neighbors shared with our landlord was they could hear us laughing through the common wall.  Well, probably me, I am a loud laugher, get it from my Mom you know.

So this game, it involved a toy that gave instructions to bop it, twist it, or pull it.  The more tasks you completed correctly the faster the instructions came.

You, me, & Amy (I know that's probably not proper english, but I did use the oxford comma) played this game with an alcoholic beverage.  Of course when you got the buzzer of shame and pulled instead of bopped you drank.  We were so young, I think we were in our mid-20s.  I was not a big drinker back home, I didn't really go out that much.  When I lived in Des Moines we did not go out and drink either, but every once in a while we would hang out at home and play silly games.  I never had a hang over or got sick with alcohol, you would tell me stories about your still younger days and getting sick or being hung over the next day.  My speech would start to slur and I would be bopping when I should have been pulling and I looked at you and said "If I get sick, you're in trouble."  It was always a joke and became a ritual for whenever we played these games.  You were part of my youth and taught me so many crazy things & so many very incredible important things.

I can't believe it's been six months since I last saw you with my own eyes. It was six months on Sunday.  I still remember after everyone left I laid next to you in the hospital bed, just to feel you next to me one last time.  I caressed your cheeks with the back of my fingers feeling your rough, yet gentle stubbled face. It was so hard to leave that room, to leave you there all alone.  I can still smell your fragrance, feel the hair on your chest, and the warmth from your arms as they engulfed me in your embrace.

I don't think I'll ever be whole again.  I feel like my life needs to be a distraction to just get through the day.  I complete daily duties, fulfill a routine, try to keep my mind on to the next task.  It's hard to find joy these days.  If I'm out somewhere doing something fun I remember the last time I was there with you, or I would imagine your response to the event.  All the things you wanted to do with us and never had the chance.  We never took a class at kitchen window, though you sure didn't need a cooking class.  Didn't get a chance to take our little girl to London or your beloved Spain.  I can't do that, I have to remember all the things we did and experienced.

Our first planned trip to London July 2005.  The terrorist attack changed our plans and we went to the next best place in the world, Texas.  We decided to use our trip insurance and cancel, not because of safety concerns, but we did not want to be tourists in a city healing from an attack.  You took it in stride and planned our entire trip.  I had the time off from work, we got in the car and drove for 24 hours in my little 2001 Saturn SL1 to Austin, Texas.  You looked up all kinds of things about Austin, the "live music capitol of the world" and of course all the bookstores they have to offer.  I still remember stepping outside our hotel and we could just hear music playing.  We decided to follow the sound and go listen to some live music, when in Rome right?  Just like now I had my camera and was ready to go.  You drove and we slowed down as the music got louder and finally parked.  There was music under a bridge and there were lots and lots of people.  All kinds of people really, I distinctly remember a woman wearing a very long fur coat with shorts, it was July in Texas. We walked toward the stage and saw people in line for something as we moved through the crowd. Then it all came together, Richard figured out it was a service with pancakes for the homeless.  He looked at me with my camera around my wrist, smiled with those beautiful brown eyes, and we left.

Our trip to the Alamo during that vacation will have to wait for yet another night.

love you handsome man.

take care,