Cowboy Up

<Originally posted elsewhere on August 19th, 2008>


I saw C last night for the first time since the funeral and the wake.  She's trying to get back to "regular life" and since I'm part of that, she wanted to pick back up where we left off. 

As I headed over to her house straight from another session, I started to feel anxiety.  My nerves were agitated and I felt like my stomach was going to claw it's way out of my body a la Aliens.  When I pulled up to the house, it looked the same as it always does.  Two cars in the driveway, large oleander out front.  But there was a heavy sadness that was palpable the closer I got to the front door. 

It was good to see her and hug her again.  S was there too and instead of big booming "hello" I am used to getting, he said "hey" rather quietly.  The house hadn't changed much since the wake.  The shrine to Aaron was still standing amidst all of the flowers that hadn't died yet.  His telltale red cell phone was part of it.  As we sat down to the kitchen table, I noted a letter from the bank that was addressed to Aaron.  How hard that must be to live with constant reminders. 

The session went well, all things considering.  We eased back into things and C was pretty tired.  She is a fighter and I could almost see her visibly struggling to keep her head above water.  I know she's going to be okay and thankfully, she knows that too.  She's just not there yet.  As emotional as I felt, it was almost easy to just be the support for her. 

As we said our goodbyes though, the thin veneer started to unravel.  I walked out to my car and did not see Aaron's blue truck in it's regular spot on the street.  Although the street looked much like it always does, things felt out of place...missing pieces.  


I sat at the stoplight waiting to turn north and was just overcome by sadness.  This was just a regular session but there wasn't anything regular about it.  I passed by the open stretch of desert where I knew Aaron spent his final minutes and I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. 

C had asked me how I was doing and I explained that there had been a weird duality to things with being excited for Burning Man yet still grieving for Aaron.  She nodded, gave me a little smile and said "Yeah, that was how Aaron worked.  There was never any gray with him." 

We talked about loss and how you start to see life in things you never had before amidst such tragedy.  She said she hoped Aaron's purpose in life had been to make people see things differently. 

I can say, most certainly, that he succeeded.