Lost in Memoryland

I knew before I dragged myself out of bed this morning that it would be a day full of bitter sweet memories.  I woke early this morning with bits and pieces of a dream tickling my thoughts.  You know how dreams are, like smoke, you reach for them but can't hold on to them.  What I remember of the dream is laying in the arms of the man I love, feeling his touch, running my fingers through his thick dark hair, looking at his beautiful bedroom blue eyes, eyes that told me he loved me without whispering a word and yet somewhere in the back of my mind I could feel his absence. 

I struggled with the notion that maybe if I stayed in bed all day I would have the same dream over and over again.  Silly?  Yes, so I got up and dressed for the day.  Today would be a tough day because I had an appointment with Les' brother to have new tires put on my truck; the truck Les bought for me and my father.  Les' brother, Mark has an auto garage next door to the house where Les and I lived for 17 years until his untimely death two years seven months ago.

As always, upon my arrival I was greeted warmly by Mark; not because I was bringing him business but because he and I are friends who truly care for each other.  Before I knew it, I was thrown in the past as Les' family members and friends started showing up.   The garage has always been a meeting place for men to stand around and talk.  I don't know how Mark ever gets anything done because there is always three or four men standing around "shooting the shit" as they say.  But then maybe that is why he has such a good business.  Lots of friends and family recommending him.

We chit chatted for a while then I snuck away to get out of his hair so that he could put new tires on my truck for me.  I wandered around the property that had once been owned by Lester Hall and now belonged to his estate.  There was little change.  Les was a collector of many things.  That man was able to pick up a piece of junk and turn around and make a profit out of it faster than anyone I had ever known.  Actually he was the first man I had ever known who sold junk as a hobby.  I was raised in a family who looked down upon people who had derelict cars in their yard so when I brought him home my family was probably in shock.  However they loved me and never voiced any bad opinions about the man I loved, at least not to my face.

I sat on the big rock in front of the house, my love rock, and let the memories flood over my body like tidal waves.  The same rock I sat on the day he died sobbing hysterically for my loss.  Today I did not think of his death, only of his life, his life with me.

Two and a half years later and I love him as much as ever.  I am now able to be more sensible about him.  I know he was not a great catch.  Darrell is a much better catch than Les.  Les was a man's man and my desires took backseat to the things he wanted to do.  Darrell always thinks of my desires first.

So why can't I love Darrell the way I loved Les?  I don't know.  I'll just have to have patience with myself and hope that Darrell can have patience with me.  They say time heals all wounds.  Perhaps with healing the ability to love again will follow.