His Absence is Deafening

Sometimes when a band plays so loudly you can feel it in your chest and carrying on a conversation with the person standing right next you is impossible.  Sometimes you’re at a crowded restaurant shouting just to be heard by the people at your own table.  Sometimes life is noisy like that.

The absence of just one person is just as loud.

The void that a loved one leaves behind is deafening, really.  Its absence engages all five senses which never ceases to infiltrate every waking moment; it’s always present, screaming in your ear at the top of its lungs or tugging at your heart with all its might; it’s there with every spray of cologne, with every reminder in sight and with each sip of coffee in the early morning hours.  

Simply breathing makes me aware of his absence.

It never goes away.  It’s with me when I grocery shop for just me.  Aaron no longer eats food. It’s there when I make the long drive to his parent’s house. Aaron used to drive us out there in his car.  It’s there when I go to sleep at night and wake up in the morning.  Aaron doesn’t sleep or wake up with me anymore.  When I ride my motorcycle, when I sit on the couch, when I make myself dinner, when I run errands; when I pet my dogs, when I chat with friends, when I do absolutely nothing at all...I do it with the inescapable reality that Aaron is no longer here.

Tonight, Aaron’s parents and I are attending a Rattlers game courtesy of “Fang” who was  buddies with Aaron.  The mere fact we have these plans demands acknowledgement of Aaron's absence. 

Before the game, we’ll enjoy dinner together at the Spaghetti Factory.  Aaron loved going out to dinner, but he won’t be there.  Then we’ll drive to the arena where Fang arranged special parking for us (if only Aaron was here...).  We’ll watch the game and surely on the way home we’ll talk about how fun it all was but that conversation will take place through the veil of Aaron’s absence.

Once I’m home, I’ll walk inside, the framed pictures of Aaron and I an instant reminder of the life I used to have with him.  I’ll let the dogs out of their crates to roam around and memories of my dogs and Aaron will flood my mind causing tears to roll down my face.  I’ll brush my teeth, change into my pajamas and roll back the sheets on only my side of the bed.  I’ll lay there for a few minutes and talk to him about how fun the game was and how I so badly wished he was there...

Eventually, I'll fall asleep.  God willing, I'll wake up tomorrow morning and simultaneous with my eyes seeing the first light of the morning will come an awareness that Aaron's no longer here. 

And, so it will begin again...

I’ll let the dogs out of their crates, I’ll sip my morning coffee...