March 5th: the anniversary of his death. I think of him sometimes throughout the year. Something seen or heard will remind me of him. But I must confess that those times are getting rarer and rarer every year that goes by. I don’t get reminded often enough now. But March 5th? It’s not necessarily a painful day, but I remember him for sure.
Every year for the last thirteen years, I look back and try remember the things we discovered about ourselves. What would he be like now? What would he be doing? Where would he be? What would he have achieved? And I wonder stupid things like: if he was a fan of Metallica back then, what would he be listening to now?
He died far too young and it was a shame to lose such a vibrant person.
We were together for two and a half years, both of us still kids trying to grow up, yet struggling to make sure everyone knew that we already were. We loved each other fiercely, but almost hated each other too. We could barely stand to be next to one another, but we clung onto the life we had created. We were so young and righteous and together despite our repelling magnetism for one another. It was a crazy time for me in my life and our relationship was very tumultuous. And though there were things that I would change about our circumstances, I would not change the fact that I was with him for a good part of his short adult life.
We had broken up just prior to his illness and I only saw him once when he was close to departing from us. I could barely stand it. He wasn’t the same guy I knew and had loved, although there were hints of it showing in the sparkle of his eye when we said goodbye for the last time.
Yes, March 5th. March seems to be such a crazy month in a “good/not so good/good/very very bad” kind of way. My Mum’s birthday is on the 1st. Jace died on the 5th. My birthday is on the 12th. My Great Gramma died on the 23rd. I both love and despise this month. Up, down, up and so very much down.