Part 14

Time doesn't stand still, even when it feels like it should. Life moves forward. You drag yourself out of bed in the morning, brush your teeth, and comb your hair. You drink your coffee and eat your toast. You go to work, go home, eat your dinner, and go to bed. Every morning when you wake up you think it was all just a horrible dream. You rejoice. Then bleak reality settles in, and you have to figure out how to face another day without him.

At first, everyone acts like they care, like they understand. “I'm so sorry for your loss.” they say. Then they give you a reassuring hug, as though that makes it all better. Eventually, though, they stop pretending. People move on. After all, their lives weren't falling apart.

The grief hits you at the most random of times. It overtakes you suddenly and you can't control or stop it. You can't fight it. You burst into gut wrenching, body shaking sobs. You can't be consoled. Everything reminds you of him. His favorite song playing on the radio, that man across the street that resembles him ever so slightly. Everywhere you look you see him. Everywhere you go you hear his voice.

Sid had taken to sleeping in my bedroom. He slept on an inflatable mattress he'd borrowed from his mother's house. I hadn't asked him to, but I hadn't exactly objected either. I woke up almost every night screaming from a horrific nightmare. It was the same one over and over. I dreamed that I was there, at the accident. Every night I watched Jeffery die.

Sid had been unusually helpful around the apartment since Jeffrey's death. He washed the dishes, did the laundry, cleaned the bathrooms. He made us dinner every night and breakfast every morning, and packed our lunches. He held me while I cried and when I needed to talk he listened. I'd never let myself be vulnerable before. That wasn't the Lennie Hill way. I think seeing me this way frightened Sid a bit. He was used to the strong Lennie, the one who was the force in our relationship, the push. Now he was the strong one, and the role reversal felt strange for the both of us.

Over the next month Sid and I grew closer. He was very careful with me, very gentle. For the first time in my life I felt fragile. Sid had suggested that I see a grief counselor. I don't think he'd ever seen me so angry. Going to a counselor was out of the question. He would have to drag me there kicking and screaming. I would never admit that I needed help. That wasn't the Lennie Hill way. Thankfully, Sid didn't broach the subject again. He knew how much I was struggling to allow him comfort me, let alone some head shrink. Still, I appreciated how much he cared about me. Everything that had happened since Jeffrey's death had led me to the obvious conclusion that Sid was in love with me. I had been a fool to have not realized it earlier. I'd thought he'd disliked Jeffrey because he was rich, but it wasn't that at all. He was jealous.

In the months following Jeffrey’s death I found myself slowly falling for Sid. I think a part of me had always loved him, but I'd been in denial. I didn't want to love Sid, but like the demise of my relationship with Jeffrey, it seemed almost inevitable. Sid was the only one who I trusted completely. He was the only one I let in. He was my perfect match; we were made for each other. I don't know why it took me so long to figure that out.