I have always felt that things happen for a reason. That mere "chance" doesn't exist. In the early days after Q's accident I tried to remind myself of this belief. At times I could cling onto the hope that there was a bigger purpose. Other times I couldn't find the strength to believe it. I still go back and forth from time to time. Mostly though, I am back to believing that there is a reason for everything. I am hoping that one day, everything will make sense and I'll realize why.
I've been looking back on the last few weeks and moments we had together and they all point to what happened. It is as if we were preparing each other yet neither one of us knew what we were preparing for. In one conversation, I mentioned that I thought it would be terrible to be in a personal hell while the world continued, unaware of my pain. He helped me understand that each person has to go through hell at some point in their life. He said that the world would have no way of knowing so I shouldn't take it personally if it ever happened to me. Little did I know that I would be going through it less than a month later.
We had conversations about life and death. We talked about what we thought heaven was like. We watched "The Five People You Meet In Heaven" together. We talked about how we wanted to go and how we wanted to be laid to rest. I told him about my hatred for carnations and that if any were on my casket I would come back and haunt him. He said he'd be sure to have all carnations if that were the case. Then he told me he wanted to be cremated. We were talking about seemingly random things that have so much meaning now.
The day of the accident was different somehow. He was different, we were different. We stayed in bed really late and he didn't mind. (He hated wasting the day away in bed) He held my hand and played with it as I drove to lunch. (He didn't hold my hand very often) He told me he wanted to stay home and just hang out with me, that he didn't care what we did besides being together. (He never shirked his responsibilities for any reason) At the time, I thought these differences were because we had finally finished moving me in. Now I think it was because I needed those last moments to be special. I will carry them as my final memories for the rest of my life.
I don't know how, but Q knew he needed to be very affectionate that day. He probably didn't consciously know it, but I think something was telling him to do be that way. I choose to believe that God was getting us ready for what was about to happen.
I am so grateful that I have wonderful memories to get me through the hard times. I cling onto them when I'm crumbling from the weight of my pain. I laugh at them when it's a good day and something pops into my head. I cherish them.
"Love lost is still love. It takes a different form, that’s all. You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it. Life has to end. Love doesn’t" --Mitch Albom
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