Road to Recovery vs. Some Things You Never Get Over

By débora Ewing
I miss knowing every inch of his face, its bone structure, the thinness of his skin. 

 I miss his funny walk and the surprising strength of his core. I miss the smell of leather and Head-and-Shoulders in his long, thick hair which he somehow could tuck up into a baseball cap. 

 I miss the way his eyes darted to each side before that inevitable barb rolled off his tongue. He was a master of subtle timing; even he didn't understand that. 

 His nature erupted into everything he did, from playing guitar to tenderly nursing plant cuttings. Housewives and band groupies called him for his meatloaf recipe, but he took real pride in chocolate eclairs. My kids refused to eat them so he retired, devastated, into the neighbor room. 

 Some things aren't meant to be gotten over.  Everything still exists, somewhere; nothing is linear, not really.

 So, you see, it's okay to say no. Nobody should ever say yes until they are comfortable knowing there is no competition.
 

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