I just realized, I've posted more in the month of January than any month prior. Maybe it's a sign that I can talk about him ore. Or maybe he's just on my mind more. Or maybe. Maybe.

Social network

I watched social network tonight and thought of Ryan. Coding was his thing. Zero zero zero zero one. He loved to geek out and geek out with his geeky friends. And I loved watching him geek out and listen to him with glazed eyes. I miss him. And his geeky-ness.

Dreams.

In a sleepy haze, half way between dreaming and waking up, I had a dream of Ryan. I was in a water park, slip sliding down a water way. Getting up, going again. And then running into Orion as we were preparing to play soccer on a team called Team Go! And as we were at the officials stand, getting ready to register our team amongst a crowd of people, up walked Ryan. His features were vivid - as I last remember seeing him. A sense of he's been alive all this time washed over me. And then I embraced him. I couldn't smell him though - it was just a shell of his physical body.

I woke up and sobbed. Then I cried myself back to sleep.

As I relayed this dream to a friend, I started sobbing again. Not out of sadness, but more out of the beauty of letting someone touch you that much. I feel blessed to have known a love like that, sad that he's no longer here in the physical sense, but happy that I remember him when I do.

Read a quote this morning:

"Coincidences are the scars of fate."

Coincidence?

I've been purging my house lately. Since I've got some down time from the bike, I've been putting in my extra energy into those often neglected things. Such as cleaning off bookshelves with old climbing guide books, yacht guides, things Ryan was into. It's left me wondering though - what do I do with his old year books? His baseball card collection? His leather jacket?

His intense picture hangs on the wall next to the now empty bookshelf. The guide books, where he spent hours fondling their pages, are being donated to Vertical World for the use of other climbing enthusiasts. I'd rather have someone use it who values it vs. chucking it to Goodwill.

Plus in a way, I think I'm getting ready for a major change. A move or something. That or I'm just exercising how freeing it is to not be tied down by hordes of stuff.

One thing I will keep forever though are my journals. I came across one from our honeymoon. And its words were somewhat creepy. Here's what it said:

"Ah, the magnificent beauty of Yosemite. What a special treat to spend our honeymoon in one of the world's premier climbing spots. (Even as I type this, Built to Spill came on the radio - yet another coincidence?) Entering the valley for the first time was breath taking - I am so glad to be able to see it with my husband. Ryan even commented how special it was to come to a place where neither of us have been and be able to climb such death defying heights together as husband and wife. I completely agree.

We've been in Yosemite since September 7, 2001 - and every moment has been phenomenal, pristine and gorgeous. The land is as enchanting as I've ever seen and I am already planning on ways to get back. Our forefathers knew what they were talking about and I will thank them for generations to come. May it remain this gorgeous and I hope my children children will thoroughly enjoy it as much as I have."

Death-defying?
September 7?
Built to Spill?

Whoa.

Holidays

A big huge sigh starts this entry off.

Holidays are tough for me. Instead of coping with a daily routine, I am reminded in multiple ways of Ryan's absence. It strikes me at odd times- like when I'm wrapping gifts, getting dressed up for Christmas celebrations, parties, etc. Last night as I was frantically wrapping gifts in time to give them away before I leave again, I am aware of him missing. "Whatcha doing Juice?" he'd say after putting in eight hours of work in the basement and come bounding up the stairs. He'd crack a beer, take a swig and then wrap his arms around me.

I continue on with taping, cutting, putting ribbons on the gifts and dismiss the ache.

Something would distract me. I'd get back into the routine of things and then, as I was getting ready for going out to dinner with my Mom, Chuck, Marcy and Sam, his presence would come flooding back into my consciousness. I would remember getting ready in times past, asking him for his opinion on shoe choice, and he would dutifully answer. Knowing full well that shoe choice for women is often a loaded question.

We were supposed to grow old together.

I'm trying. I'm trying not to let these thoughts consume me. To suck me into the grieving vortex. But I also know it's important to recognize these feelings, to acknowledge their existence. They are real feelings and deserve respect too.

I look forward to new memories of the holidays. Not to replace the old ones, but to add to them. Sigh.

May you be old and gray when you experience this. Two years for whatever reason is a lot harder than the first.