Last week was the anniversary of Michael Jackson’s passing away. I clearly remember the day I found out. You told me. You were in the hospital. It always amazed me how you always knew what was going on in our world. I was out, with access to the internet, radio, newspaper and I hadn’t heard the breaking news. You were hospitalized and had heard.
These past few days had been tough for me. Memories of last year keep hunting me. It was in June that your doctor told me for the first time that you had six months to one year left…and I choose to have high hopes, I choose to prove him wrong, I choose to believe in miracles, I choose to alter reality, I choose to push back negative thoughts….but you knew, didn’t you?
I just came home from a long walk on the beach. Was talking to you. I had a lot to tell you…not about cancer or my regrets, or my loneliness, no, we talked like we have always talked. I updated you on the world cup, teased you on England being outed, told you about this great new restaurant we should try, job offers, leaving Kuwait, Shahrukh Khan’s latest film, sale at Home Center, politics, and at one stage I heard you laugh out loud.
That’s when I realized, this is what I miss–just hanging out with you.
So, I’m gonna quit…I’m gonna quit all posts on reminiscing on where I went wrong on your treatment, on being mad at your doctors, on needing to know WHY you,…I’ll never find my answers.
Instead, we’ll just hang out like we used to.