Remember me?

Flowers awaited my arrival home from the hospital (nearly two weeks ago now...I've been a little under the weather) - stunningly beautiful flowers. Flowers so me I cried. Mostly, flowers make me all misty eyed; these?

Well.

Quite the flowers, shall I say.

The two sets of ribbons, tied in bows, over the green three inch satiny one? To die for. The flowers however, left me speechless. A lot of time, effort and thought went into those flowers; someone who knew me quite well sent them. Once in a lifetime flowers, sent by someone who was a once in a lifetime kind of guy - the kind of guy that we if each didn't get all mired down in our own ... stuff ... could have been, The One. I snapped a shot of those blooms, in full, dewy, fresh from the delivery truck glory; another, as they've slowly faded. Rest assured, they're still here. I refuse to let them go quite yet, as, perhaps, in lots of ways, I refuse to let him go. Not that he's aware of that - he's cut all contact, not that I blame him. I wonder though, if late late late at night, he thinks of me as I do him, wishes things were different; that I didn't expect him to be a mind reader, and he didn't drop the ball.

The roses, baby ones in vivid pink, full size in gorgeous, creamy, pale yellow snuggled up with oversize blue centered white hydrangea - some of my favorites. No. All of my favorites. Classy. Elegant. Fragrant. Pristine. Full of hope, healing, love, and best wishes. Heartbreakingly, perfect flowers. From a heartbreakingly not perfect guy....there are days I consider sending a letter, thoughtfully composed, hand written, on stationary so crisp it crackles; I find words fail me. How to tell someone, I forgive you, really I do. I expected too much. But you knew me, so I thought you knew what I needed, because, dammit, I didn't totally know what I needed. You knew, I knew. And, let's face it: I did know. I couldn't tell you, anymore than you could make yourself follow through.

I'd love to say I miss you, I think of you often, in fact, not a day passes when I don't think of something that reminds me of you - even little, stupid things: they moved where the bbq lives in the store. That annoys me. I imagine, it annoys you too. I know we would laugh. But I don't want to open a wound that may very well be on the rapid track to healing, I'm trying to respect your request to never contact you, let you erase me from you memory sticks of photos, even though I never got a copy of them, and I wanted one.

I'd love to tell you what I learned, out of this whole experience: that I'm important too. Needing someone to be there for me isn't a bad thing, it's a good one, as it means I've let you in that far. That you being by my side through something scary is important to me - that I didn't want anyone but you there. You made choices I wish you didn't; voiced it, softly, but gave you the out you seemed to want. You took it. Oh, I'll always be strong enough for other's, but I'm not always strong enough for me - I don't have to be. That's what loved ones are for....to pick up the heavy bag, carry - or hell, drag it along - for a while.

If someone loves you, they remember you.

Remember me, as I'd remembered him.

Other flowers arrived; just as beautiful, but different. Steaks were sent from family, in the hopes of indulging hopefully sooner, rather than later. Someone went so far as to send in The Maids, a four woman cleaning crew who did such a fabulous job I'm afraid to walk around! The floors, especially the kitchen one they did by hand, on their knees, as I used to do when I was young, in the house I grew up in. The same way I did over 600 square feet of tile in my Dream House, when I separated, and Fox wasn't home, as I'd no idea what to do with my time besides clean and bake.

I did a lot of cleaning and baking then. I did a lot of second guessing, third guessing myself then as well.

Walking away isn't easy, staying isn't hard; the hard part's come and gone, when I realized, deep down, he didn't remember me. I still adore my flowers, still think of him each and every time my eyes land on them - which is a lot, I'll be honest, as they're in a place I see first thing every morning, last thing every night- I miss loads of things about him, and about us together. Fear's a demanding, silent mistress; those flowers remind me of that as well, keeping me at further than arms length, untouchable, by the phone, off limits via email.

In case he ever wonders? He's unforgettable, a piece of my past, my history, I'll always cherish. He's helped to make me who I am, and for that? I'll always love him. Perhaps not the way he wishes, or in the manner that he'd choose; he may not see it for the compliment that it is.

I'll remember him, always.

Like I learned to remember me.