I wrote a whole different entry under this title last week. I’d dreamed that Leo was alive. I was torn between the thrill of my best friend being alive and a sadness that I had a new life and sharing the details of this new me would hurt him. That dream left me sort of stunned for all of Thursday and well into Friday. Sunshine banished the rain for a day and I let the dream go.
In my dream, I didn’t give Leo enough credit. I don’t play the ‘what if’ game. Not playing was a coping mechanism so that I could accept the reality of his death and move on. I know Leo wanted that for me because we had discussed it. I also know that Leo would enjoy stories from my life, he’d be proud of the decisions I’ve made and risks I’ve taken, and he would like David. In fact, they’d probably go off into computer land and slay dragons, alien ships or teddy bears – whatever those brave men folk do in their games, they’d do it.
I’d forgotten how hollow my life was in the days after Leo died. Some widows describe the death of their spouse as an amputation. I think that fits. You spend crazy amounts of time reaching out with your hand, and your head, and your heart, trying to feel the presence of the one who filled your days and your life. David has been out of town and I’ve felt similar echoes of hollow. Thank God that I can maintain some sort of contact with him. Email and instant messaging provide some stimulus and sort of muffle the reverb.
They don’t have an all-inclusive data-messaging plan where Leo is. I don’t believe he is looking down and checking in on me. I believe that if Leo had any energy to devote to doing the ‘angel watching over me’ stuff, he’d pour all of that into taking care of Nichole and his mom. That’s what I’d want him to do. As sure as I know Leo would be happy for me today and that he’d like David, I know with every fiber of my being, that he’d trust that I’d be ok. That’s the sort of credit the man gave me.
