Never in a million years did I imagine our physical time together would end this way. When I received the news of your tragic and sudden death, it felt like my heart had been snatched from my body. I felt immobilized. Crushed. Shocked. Confused. Hurt. Deeply saddened. On the days that followed, I have tried to focus on our good times – on all the laughter we shared, our simple moments together, our cuddles, all the hugs, and all the kisses.
I remember meeting you like it was yesterday. Even then, your laughter was so infectious. You made it known that you wanted to spend as much time as possible with me and for a while, I obliged. The weeks flew by as you showed me parts of my new home I had yet to explore. But then my own uncertainties kicked in. You were so different from anyone I’d spent time with in recent years. You reminded me of “home” – all I knew growing up and much of what I am still connected to. Simultaneously, our present lives were different. Our schedules. Our day to day realities. Our desires. Our goals. This is what both perplexed and intrigued me about spending time with you. For the months that would follow, our bickering settled on this very crossroad. We were back and forth more than either of us can probably account for. Weeks and even months of silence and then a phone call or text would seemingly erase all of my questions … only to be reminded of our circumstances shortly thereafter. We never found our sweet spot, but in between all of the chaos we found love and generosity and kindness and comfort.
You taught me a lot. For this, I am grateful and will hold near to my heart. You reminded me to laugh. You taught me to not take myself so seriously. At a time when people – including me – can get caught up in titles and positions, you still affectionately called me “Doctah” but showed me how much joy we can find in simple pleasures. You removed the bells and whistles and created spaces where quality time brought an overwhelming sense of calm and peace in my life. Bike rides, walks on the beach, nights on the dance floor, cocktails at home, movie marathons, take-out, dine in, late night connections after we’d gone out with friends … we created so many memories in such a short period of time.
Maybe the aforementioned is what hurts the most. Of all the lists I have created, you didn’t quite make the cut :-). BUT in matters of my heart, you were more than I could ever ask for. I knew that and I think – I hope – you knew that as well.
I am going to miss you. I miss you. Deeply. I can’t begin to imagine what your family may be feeling at this time. But I have no doubt that many people will hold you in their hearts because of your kindness, humor and generosity. I, too, will never forget our season of uncertainty. The time we shared and the lessons you taught me. If you were physically with me at this time, I know you’d tell me “Don’t cry for me” so I dedicate this poem to you.
In loving memory,
…
Don’t cry for me.
I will be okay.
Heaven is my home now,
and this is where I’ll stay.
Don’t cry for me.
I’m where I belong.
I want you to be happy
and try to stay strong.
Don’t cry for me.
It was just my time,
but I will see you someday
on the other side.
Don’t cry for me.
I am not alone.
The angels are with me
to welcome me home.
Don’t cry for me,
for I have no fear.
All my pain is gone,
and Jesus took my tears.
Don’t cry for me.
This is not the end.
I’ll be waiting here for you
when we meet again.
Deborah Garcia Gaitan