You're my flower

I left so much of myself at home.  I left so much of my stuff at home.  The stuff that has been collected for years and years and years.  Almost 14 years to be exact.  Fourteen years in our three bedroom town home.  Now that I’m out of there, I can’t imagine ever going back.  In fact, I can’t believe I was even  living there, again, for the past two years.  Almost two years to the date, minus one month.  Two years since the graduation and transition from one chapter to the next in this book of life, since the promise of a wide open future full of adventures, two years since my entire life changed with four simple huge gigantic monstrous words.

Blood rushed to the pit of my stomach.  I was sitting (thank goodness).  I was graduating in less than 24 hours.  I was caught off guard.  I was irritated and annoyed and confused.  I had been waiting on them all morning, and when they finally came, that was their opening.  I have a tumor, in my throat, they’re going to go in there, and take care of it, and that’s it.

Famous last words, I think now.  Right then and right there everything about my world changed.  The next thing I remember from that moment is being up in my bedroom.  I was standing across the room, and he was saying:

Don’t cry, you’re my flower.

Maybe this is why I have an obsession with flowers. 

Missing you is like looking for something I know I will never find.  It’s in every breath of wind, it’s in the sunlight and in the rain, it’s in the thunder and the lighting, it’s in the words I cannot say and the memories I cannot remember.

It's in every flower.