July 27th, 2006-When Love Remained

Five years ago on July 27th, 2006, Christopher, the love of my life, passed away from brain cancer.

We met November 21st, 2003 while I worked in Victoria's Secret.  He came in and bought over $500 worth of merchandise, got approved for a VS card so that I could get the commission, all the while telling me that he was buying the items for his girlfriend, who was around my size, we bought everything that would fit me that he thought was sexy.  He asked for a card to write a note, stuck it in the back on top of the tissue paper, went outside to take a call and never came back.

When I opened the card he'd written:
                       You seem like the type of girl to like big romantic gestures, so here's mine
                        If I seem interesting and you'd like to go on a date with me give me a call (#)
                        If not, enjoy the merchandise and the commission
                                                         -Christopher

I thought he was crazy.  I thought he was sweet.  I thought he was romantic.  I thought he was fucking gorgeous (he and Danny Gokey would be IDENTICAL twins).  I thought he was fucking insane.

So I called him.

We went on our first date, and back then I was a "first date sex" type of girl.  Christopher was a Southern gentleman, he asked for permission for everything.  "Can I hold your hand?"  "Can I kiss you?"  "Can I call you tomorrow?"

He was amazing.  We dated for three years.  He was a musician, I was a singer/songwriter.  I was an artist, he was a sexy subject.  I was a nympho (still am) and he made me wait.  I was a writer and he thought my writing was amazing. He needed someone to take care of him and I love taking care of people.  I was bossy and controlling and he made me feel small and protected.  He proposed to me on December 25th, 2005.  After having one of the most romantic, deepest, soul-stirring loving relationships and love stories I'd ever experienced, he made it more perfect by proposing on Christmas Day and telling me that I could have the wedding of my dreams.  Our wedding date was set for December 24th, 2006.

He died on July 27th.

It took me YEARS to get over him.  To not cry every time I heard "What Hurts the Most" by Rascal Flatts, which is what they played at the funeral.  To be able to shop in Victoria's Secret again.  To be able to get through the day without drinking or without needing to get high or kill myself and join him.  Last year July 27th came and went and all I felt was a small bit of pain.  This year, I didn't even realize that July 27th had come and gone.

Until about twenty minutes ago.

I had just finished checking out some posts of Thorny's when my cell phone rang.  It was Christopher's mother.  Usually I call her every year and we sit on the phone and cry together, or I let her remember Christopher.  I let her tell me about how I was the first black girl he ever dated and about how before he met me he'd never even met "a gay" but that when I came along he started hanging out with them and how they were a little worried that he would be gay but then they learned to accept "the gays" for who they were and how she was so glad that Christopher met me and fell in love with me and how I made them a family again.  Those phone calls helped me get through the agonizing soul-crushing loss of the very person who I felt made my heart beat in the first place.

I was pregnant when Christopher died, I miscarried a month later, and with every phone call I was reminded of not only Christopher but of our baby that I lost as well.  It took me a while to realize that those phone calls were doing more harm than good for me.  They weren't helping me to heal, they were keeping me paralyzed in emotional agony.

I didn't call this year.  She called me though, twenty minutes ago.  She ranted and raged at me.  Yelled at me, called me horrible, filthy names and most shockingly told me that I never loved Christopher and that I probably killed our baby on purpose.

Then she called me the "N" word.

My happy bubble had been crushed, because while I understand that grief causes people to say and do ugly things, I think that sometimes it makes people say what they've been feeling all along and I think in her case she was finally being honest.

Even with her completely shitting on my day and man, making me relive one of the hardest moments of my life, all I kept thinking was "Christopher, do you even realize how much I loved you?  Because if I didn't love you, there's no way I would put up with your bitch of a mother right now."

But more than that it makes me want all of my friends, everyone I know to find someone that they can love, will love with their whole selves, with their souls.   Because while the lost of Christopher was so heart-stoppingly hard, I wouldn't trade the fact that I was able to love him for anything else in the world.  And I know I'm usually very happy and bouncy and silly but damn, she hurt me and I needed to just kind of hurt for a moment.

Thunderstorms

So, while reading a few short stories online, I came across a story about a couple who for different reasons are afraid of storms and their affects. It of course made me think about my own fear of storms, or rather my own sense of foreboding and hesitation over them. Like all fear it is connected to a memory, a bad one.

I was a young woman, a girl really and it was storming outside. I had gone to visit a friend of mine and was spending the night. She'd gone to take a shower and her brother, whom I found incredibly attractive, was home. He'd come into the living room where I'd been watching the Olsen twins in "Double, Double, Toil and Trouble" (yeah, this was a while ago). He'd asked me how long I'd known his sister, if she was my best friend, things like that. He was making small talk, putting me at ease, which didn't take too long. I was a lot more mature than my other friends by the time I was 10. Much of which was due to things I'd experienced earlier in my childhood. I remember that it didn't take long before I was smiling and laughing with him. I'd been raised in a very strict, very correct and upstanding "Christian" household. I put the quotations because while my mother was the embodiment of a true Christian, my father was only the shell of one. But that's neither here nor there.

Because of my upbringing in this staunch Christian household, my parents had pretty much glazed over the whole sex talk thing. I do believe that when I started my monthly cycle at the age of 9, my father took me out for ice cream, told me that now I could get pregnant. That sex was where babies came from and that sex was only for married people. So when my friend's brother asked me to come to his room and then asked me if I wanted to play a game called sex, I was of course, reticent, about the whole thing.

"My mommy and daddy said that sex is only for married people and that that's where babies come from." I'd told him with sincerity and innocence, completely trusting.

"Oh no, they got it wrong. Making love is for married people. And babies come from inside of the mommy's belly. But you can't get a baby from playing sex and anyone can play it," he'd responded, sounding so sure, so certain, so knowledgeable and HELPFUL that I believed him almost instantly.

Well, anyone can deduce what happened between me, a 10 year old girl, a P.K. (Preacher's Kid) and this 16 year old "man". After getting me to take off my clothes and lay down on the bed, after hurting me, after ignoring my please and cries for him to stop, after he'd finished with me, told me to get dressed and then pushed me out of the room, I was afraid of storms. You see, it had been storming really hard in Meridian, Mississippi that day. Oh I can sleep through some of them, if I fell asleep before the storm started and I've taken the right "painkiller cocktail" I can sleep through almost anything, but if I'm awake when the storm starts, well, I stay awake through the entire thing, my hands slightly shaking, my throat tight, my mind struggling not to remember.

As I read this story, I struggled with my own memories of that night. Then I struggled with memories of the two men that I'd shared that story with and of their two different reactions. I'd shared that story with Christopher, my fiance, shortly after seeing a senior citizen get mowed down by a vehicle in the middle of the street (I still remember that incident with clarity) and with Brandon, someone I still cannot identify even after all this time (was he my boyfriend, my friend? What the hell were we to each other?). And just like the two of them, their reactions were like night and day. Brandon listened to me as I shared with him this painful story, said "Aaww baby, I'm so sorry. C'mere" and pulled me into his arms, rubbing my back as I jumped at every sound of thunder, falling asleep way before I did, forgetting the entire incident in the morning. Whereas Christopher, my knight in shining armor, listened, pulled me roughly into his arms and then demanded the name of the boy who'd raped me. When I refused to give it to him, because really, it had been 11 years by that point, the statute of limitations was up and honestly, I'd gotten past it....for the most part. Realizing that I had no plans to tell him, he'd sat down on the bed and pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me. We sat there for almost fifteen minutes just holding each other. Then he'd laid down on the bed and held me in his arms, then he began to talk to me about our future together. How many children he wanted us to have, the house he wanted us to live in, how he'd be the man behind the woman when I took over the world with my writing, acting, singing, dancing and non profit organizations.

Christopher whispered words of love to me, cherishing me as I relived the painful memory. Then he held me in his arms, singing softly to me (off-key and out of tune) until I fell asleep.

People will always have different reactions to your life story. Everyone has one, everyone has a special sort of "life hell" that they'll have to endure and people around you will respond to it and to you differently. You'll lose people from your life when they're unable to handle it or to understand you or the situation(s) you'll endure. People will enter your life because they see you going through hell and it makes them feel better about themselves and their own lives. Then there are those people, the Christophers, who want to fight on your behalf, who love you, who draw you through the thunderstorms, protecting you, loving you, until the hell, the storm passes or until you find peace.

It's the difference between those people who are temporary dwellers in your life and those who are etched into your life. In a year or so, a few months Brandon will be completely forgotten by me (and not a moment too soon), but Christopher will be remembered by me forever. He, I will never forget, and will never want to forget.

I may have met Brandon after Christopher passed away, but it's Christopher who is freshest on my mind. He is the reason why I only shake a little when I hear a thunderstorm rather than fiercely shaking and crying silently when one hits. I will remember him forever. I will love him forever. And that's just something that you don't ever forget.

Is there something in your life that's tied to a painful memory? How can you tie that thing to something positive? Who is the person in your life who can help? Think about this today.

Have a great weekend all!