It will be okay soon.

As the date for John's departure grows near, I find that I'm questioning myself. I really don't feel strong enough. I never lived entirely alone. I was out on my own a bit during the early college years living with roommates, but it's not the same. It probably would have done me some good to have been alone earlier in life, but it stands as it is now and I approach this lonely adventure in the afternoon of my time. I wonder how well I know myself -- am I afraid of myself? Do I really know God or have I been pretending? The world seems to put God in a box and define him in their own terms, rather than by his. I want to know his personality. I want to know his laugh. I want to see his eyes crinkle when he smiles in my mind. I want such raw familiarity that he can give me a verbal head-slap when I need one or stroke my hair as I cry into my pillow at 4 in the morning. I want to be talking to him constantly through the day; I want to be friends.
I need to be strong. I need to be more than this. I want to be able to take things as they come and deal with them as they come. At least I have dealt with my past. I don't know how I did it. The creeping shadows in my memories I looked over and said, "It's just something that happened to me and now it's over," and I released it like smoke into the air and watched the pain waft away. I don't have anger about it, I don't expect anything of anyone concerning those things. No matter what anyone should have done, nothing can be done now. Because it's over. And soon this dreaded time will pass and I'll remember what a hell it was for me and smile a little at how much I grew from it and I'll let this pain go, as well. Let it free, let it fly, let it disappear into the sky. But in a week it will be just me and my little cat against the world. But, no -- my team is just as small as I let it be. I'll have John's family and my family and his solider friends, our school friends, and so on. I've always had a lot of pride. I refused to make a sound from the pain through the months and months of physical therapy. I don't like to ask for help. I started to feel long ago that I shouldn't need anyone, that it was weak and wrong to ask for help. But fear of weakness is the ultimate weakness. I will have to sidestep that part of myself. I have this song that when I listen to it and close my eyes, I can see the person I was meant to be. She steps out of my body and stretches her cramped wings and looks up - she's so strong and so breath-taking and I just have to make it there before I die.
I'm not sleeping well. I cry several times a day. And my heart is screaming and rebelling against this with all it has but I smash it down inside and stand on it because I will not allow my stupidity to take away what John has dreamed to be since he was a little boy playing with his GI Joes in the dirt. How selfish I would be. He would do the same for me, I know. He's given me everything he is and was. "Love must never hold tight, but let go." So, I'm letting go like I did so many years ago. The more torn apart our hearts become the more the scar tissue binds them together. It will be okay soon.