30...

My alarm had me up at 5:45am. I was dressed, fed and out the door by 6:00am. I went to Inman Perk, one of my favorite coffee shops, got a soy latte and started my writing. For four hours I wrote, taking the occasional break to think, reread what I wrote, or check an email.
It’s May 20th. I stare at the clock on my computer screen. I think to myself “this time last month, I was talking to Rob, taking a shower, going to work…” This time last year I was in Spain. I got wrapped up in some stuff that was emotionally difficult to deal with and left for a little while. Never did I ever imagine I’d be contemplating the same thing, because I just lost the person I loved the most. I didn’t even know Rob last year.
I am happy with my decision to stay put in Atlanta and stick this out. I’m not running away this time like I’m so accustomed to doing when things get difficult.
“One day you’ll stop running and will be able to sit still.” one of my mom’s sisters told me. I didn’t believe her at the time but I’m doing it!
I keep writing. I write and write and write until I have to stop and take a break because it’s emotionally draining, and I’m overwhelmed by the task. I pull up an email from my Swedish friend Robert. I wrote him the day that Rob died and his response was:
“Hey.
I am so so sorry to hear about all this. Horrible news.
Life is not fair and it doesnt make sense sometimes.
I am not good with words, and to say the right thing now is not easy.
I know from own experience (since my dad just passed away) it will be painful and it will come in waves. I dont think you should try to block them or avoid them. the pain and tears has to come out somewhere so please let it come. And the old line: "time will heal" is true. I know it is not what you want to hear right now. I bet nothing in the world feels important now and it is hard to focus and concentrate. But you must!!! Make time for grief when the waves comes but make sure you stand up after each one of them. You are stronger than you think. Trust me. But it will take time to go through all this.
And if you can, try to use your writing talent, write things down, words, feelings, thoughts. write it all down and keep it somewhere. Dont try to write sense, scribble everything down. It will maybe look simple, bad and messy but when the right time comes you will see everything clear. And I think the notebook will become a very close friend of yours who really understand you and knows what you feel. And best of all, the notebook will never ever judge your thoughts or feelings.
I am here for you through email if you want.
I know you will make it.
I am not sure if what I write to you is good or bad. It is not easy.
I send you millions of hugs”
I made sure I had a notebook with me at all times after reading this when he sent it. I have three now that I’ve jotted down random thoughts, stories, rough drafts of things, words to jog my memory for something I’ll write about later, and every memory I have of Rob and us that pops into my head. I make time for my thoughts, questions, crying, and I do my absolute best to stand up afterwards and place another piece of my life back together. I know good and well that Rob would be pissed off at me if I lived under the covers in my bed and did nothing but sink into the oblivion of my overwhelming grief. I keep waiting for a storm to come. I keep waiting to get knocked on my ass. I’m waiting for the rush of the reality of the situation to take hold of me and sling me out into the open air, letting me fall wherever face first onto the ground, broken into a million pieces.
Maybe this won’t happen though. Maybe I’m learning about how to deal with my feelings for once through all this. Maybe I’m doing exactly as I need to be doing and everything really is as it is and I’m doing something right. Maybe he’s really here, holding my hand like he always told me he would. Maybe if and when the storm does come, and I am thrown out into the vast expanse of the universe, and I do break into a million pieces, I’ll be equipped for fixing myself and standing up again.
I can’t sit still any longer. I pack up and go home to change clothes. I get dressed for the gym and start running. Music is playing in my ears but I can’t get the sound of my dad’s voice out of my head. Nothing is more heartbreaking than hearing my calm, sweet, quiet, father’s voice crack from crying.
“I have some bad news. Rob’s been in an accident. He’s dead.” plays over and over in head. The disbelief washes over me again and again. Not my Rob. No. There’s a mistake. Tears flood my eyes but don’t spill over as my feet pound the pavement. My lungs expand and contract, sucking air in and pushing it out as I run. Why can’t I cry when I feel like I need to? My brain is still trying to make sense of what has happened and how’s it’s going to function through it.
I make it to the gym. I’m not there long before the muscles in my legs begin to shake from lifting weights. It’s been a month since I’ve set foot in here. I decide I’ll have to go easy for a little while. “Maybe I’ll start that tomorrow.” I think to myself as I run all the way back home.
I make it home and shower. After getting dressed I eat lunch and head out again to Java Vino. I set up the computer and get back to writing. Again, I reread everything carefully, and keep going. I pour every ounce of energy and love I have into it. It’s as if I’m still able to keep giving Rob all my love by writing and remembering him. Marian (massage therapist) sends me an email telling me I seem to be doing very well and my body wasn’t all locked up. I feel I am doing as well as can be expected but I don’t want folks to think for a minute that just because I’m not wallowing in tears or moping around doesn’t mean I’m fine and everything is all sparkly beautiful because it’s not. I wish I had the words to explain it better, but it’s as if something else is here with me, holding me up, and helping me along the way. It keeps me from looking too hard at the past and from looking too far into the future. It holds me right here, right now, where I need to be. It keeps me focused on the task at hand, whether that’s writing, talking, cutting hair, eating, or even sleeping.
Another four hours go by and I need to run a couple of errands before heading to Rob’s parent’s house for dinner. I drop my things off at home and see that I got my phone bill. There is a long list of calls made to and from Atlanta GA phone numbers, with Anderson SC calls sprinkled in there along the way. The Anderson calls abruptly stop on April 18th and aren’t ever listed again. I search the calls that were made and came in on April 20th. My parent’s number is listed at 5:53pm. It was the first call I had received that day. I hear my dad’s voice again.
“I have some bad news. Rob’s been in an accident. He’s dead.”
I still remember what the sky looked like that day. Bright blue with fluffy white clouds. I remember stumbling down N. Highland, trying to breathe, hanging up with daddy, calling my aunt, calling Kat, plowing into her on the street outside near our house…
“…he’s dead.” Nothing is more final than that. There is nothing I want to reverse more than those words.
I drive out I-20 to Stockbridge. The sky looks the same today as it did a month ago. This still feels weird without him with me, or well, with him driving and me next to him in the passenger seat, singing along to whatever is on the radio. It’s just me singing this time as I get off the exit and make my way through a little bit of traffic to Rob’s parent’s house.
Both his parents, his sisters Lesley and Laura are there along with Laura’s boyfriend David. We eat Chinese food and talk about Rob’s funeral briefly before the subject moves along to American Idol and Judy’s work. “Life is still happening.” I think to myself. American Idol will have another season, summer is coming again, we’ll all have birthdays, we’ll all get older, but Rob, he’ll be 26 years old forever. I know he’s with us all but not in the sense we’re used to. He won’t get to share in all this like we’d like him to.
We finish dinner and Rob’s dad (Rick) asks me to come downstairs. He wanted to give me some fruit. When he gets everything out of the cooler I say,
“ I have a question. It’s ok if you don’t want to answer it though.”
“What is it?”
“Um. When all this happened with Rob, and you went there to where the accident happened…” I trailed off. This is harder than I thought. “Um,, did you see Rob?”
“No. I didn’t, but I asked the questions.”
I nod. “I hate I’m so curious, but I don’t understand what happened exactly.” I don’t think I ever will really. I’d have to actually see it to believe it.
“He died from hitting the back of his head.”
“How did that happen? I thought he hit the side of his head first.”
“No, he was ejected and that’s when he hit his head and the Jeep rolled over him.” he replied.
I’m still having trouble understanding.
Rick reached out and hugged me. The tears form again and pool in my eyes without spilling over.
“I want my son back.” he tells me.
I nod.
“I know I don’t show it but it hurts so much. My namesake is gone.”
I nod again.
Lesley walks downstairs and joins us in a group hug. We talk more about the situation.
“Rob wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. The damn thing was tied down. They never intended to use it. If he did use it, he’d still be here.” Rick said.
I don’t say a word. There’s no changing what happened. I won’t even let my mind go there.
“There’s a reason for all this. Maybe it’s so the rest of our lives could be better somehow, that we’ll learn something. I don‘t know.” he said.
I nod.
We walk back upstairs. Lesley retreats back to her room and I sit in the living room and talk with her parents. The conversation flows from Rob’s death, to his life, to Kate’s wedding and back to Rob’s life in college. I love the stories. I can’t get enough information about him. I had nine weeks with him. His parents had 26 years.
Every time I look at his mom, I see him. I want to be close to her. I want to tell her everything, just like I told Rob everything. I feel a certain clinginess coming on but at the same time, I’m scared to share because I don’t want to be telling her things she may not want to hear, so I keep my mouth shut.
It’s late when I leave. I don’t like what’s on the radio so I turn on my iPOD and drive down the quiet streets with David Gray’s soft piano accompaniment floating through my ears. I want to crawl into this song and let it envelop me until I feel strong enough to stand up again. I merge onto I-20 again. Tears come hard and fast. I grip the steering wheel trying to get a hold of myself. It’s everything I’ve held in today coming out. It’s tears from writing, from frustration when I can’t find the words I need, from feeling terrified of ‘what people might think’, from wanting to divulge every last microscopic detail of the person I knew to his mother, telling her what he meant to me, what he did for my life and how I’ve searched so long for a person like him to walk into my life and turn the light on, letting me see what I was missing out on by opening my mind, physically and emotionally and loving me with everything he had.
It’s nearly 1:30am. Last month I was with my parents, talking to my mom until about this time. I couldn’t sleep when she left the room. Tonight, I’m sitting up in my own bed, wearing another one of Rob’s shirts, stopping every so often to inhale it because it smells like his detergent and missing him so much I feel the gap in my heart open wide and swallow me whole.