During your viewing me and the girls all went up to your coffin to talk shit with you one last time. There, I asked that you visit me without scaring me. I suggested throwing a Cornut at me or something of that nature. Harmless enough. That night in my moms room, around the same time I received the text that you were gone, I sat straight up from bed and smelled flowers. I don’t remember exactly what kind, but the kind you smell when you touch down in Hawaii and get lei’d. I looked around for any candle remnants, and waited just to make sure I wasn’t losing it. But the smell was still there, fragrant as ever. Then, just as fast as you took your last breathe, the smell disappeared.
I told myself it was late, and I was making things up. There was no smell, no sign from above, no flowers. Until Rachel reminded me that I asked you to give me a signal that wouldn’t scare me. Even in death, you knew just how to cheer me up. I walked to the front of the church before your funeral the next day, and took a deep breathe next to your coffin. Tuberose. Just like the night before.
Fast forward to yesterday, two years after your passing and I’m at your grave crying more than the year before. I’m spreading a bouquet of Gerber Daisies on your headstone, wishing your drink of choice wasn’t Anejo with a water back because I know we’ll be taking shots at dinner in your honor. I see Ferl keep one of her flowers, and I do the same. When I get home, I stick it in a water bottle. I call Nikko and cry my heart out to her. I call Evan and cry my eyes out to him. I hope that you’re OK and not just dead in a box. I ask that you let me know the latter isn’t true. I cry all night, and end up working from home the next day. Continue reading