One boy and one girl

Rich’s first surgery was on Monday, 12 November 2012. Before we drove up to Baltimore that weekend, Rich handed me this flash drive. It was orange, of course. He said it had a video on it for me and one for Ian. In case he didn’t make it through the surgery.

I rolled my eyes at him and tossed the drive in a drawer. I never watched them. I was too busy trying to keep him (and me and Ian) alive. I panicked a few days ago wondering if I had lost the drive. I just found it in my night stand.

The plastic is all sticky and gross and bless his heart he used Windows Media to record it so I had to convert it to play on my MacBook. 

God, he looked so good! So healthy! He smirked at me with that Stryker smirk. He even said he knew I was rolling my eyes at him for making the video.

I miss him so much. He was so wonderful. Even the shit he did that was so annoying was still pretty great.

Someone told me recently that I seem very happy these days, having lots of relationships. He noted that I also had said how happy I was with Rich. He asked me if I’m happier now.

Cancer was a crucible that changed me. I’m not the same person I was in 2012. I’ll never be that person again and I don’t want to be.

I live out loud and share everything but you guys don’t get this video. It’s mine. He told me I was his girl and he was my boy. And that nothing changes that ever.

For five years, whenever he would get worried, Rich would say, “Tell me you love me. Tell me you’re my girl. Tell me everything is going to be ok.” And I did. Over and over.

I don’t want The One. I had it already. He was great. And I certainly don’t want to be someone’s everything ever again. The second time might kill me.