I have to be honest. I’m not sure if my brain can grasp an afterlife. I mean, I can’t for the life of me fathom how you can still be around somewhere. You as Caye. Maybe if you were like some ball of energy floating around, sure. But you, with all your memories, and your experiences, I really don’t know. Sometimes I believe it, because I want to, because I want to think that we will see each other again someday. And it will be one of those grand cinematic reunions and I will feel every painful thing I’ve had to go through disappear. I will truly feel that everything will be okay. Not that I don’t tell myself that. I truly believe that everything will be okay. But again, my brain cannot fathom how that’s gonna happen. I hope for it to be so, I just don’t know how it will be so. I always pray that that is enough though.
But if you are there, as you, looking like the same guy with stubby hands and toes, with incredibly healthy hair, and well, do souls get sweaty pa ba? I hope not. Anyhoo. I just want to say sorry. I have been incredibly selfish. I cannot seem to commemorate you without thinking of my pain. It seems you are attached to it and I don’t know if that will ever change. I am curious of other bereaved people who are able to organize parties, dinners, masses, prayer vigils, create scored slideshows of your photos, etc. I do not know how to be like that. I wish to be like that sometimes. Because it seems like the right thing to do. The normal, healthy thing to do. Not the drinking, the irrational shopping and spending, the compulsive traveling, the cracking of inappropriate dead fiance jokes, the moping, the misplaced anger, the adoption of stray cats, and whatever else stupid thing i choose to do.
My point is, I am a rotten, rotten person because every time I think of you, I think of me. I suppose that’s not exactly irrational, since there is, in actuality, no more you. But still. It does not feel right. Selfish nga. But you see, I was never worried for you. In my head, you will always be better off than us, the people you left behind. Whether or not there’s an afterlife. You’re either in heaven or already part of some sort of collective consciousness, or you’ve just ceased to exist completely. Either way, you are better off.
But again, I am a rotten, rotten person. Because somewhere in the world tomorrow, there are people gathering in your honor. They will be eating or drinking somewhere talking about you, remembering you. I am guilty because I don’t really want to do this. I want to keep my memories to myself. And I don’t seem to feel the need to hear how other people remember you or how they knew you. It doesn’t seem like we knew the same you. Their Caye is not my Caye. Their Caye is not mine.
Oh but there are so many thoughts running in my head. And even if I’m a rotten rotten person, you are constantly occupying my brain. So many memories. So many things about you (about us) only I know. And because I am selfish, I would like to keep it that way. No fucking way I’m sharing. They are mine. All. Mine. (insert devilish laughter here)
So there. I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to be right now but selfish. That is that. I hope that I am not a disappointment to you. If you really do still exist. I mean, I sometimes catch myself thinking, holy fuck can you actually see me picking my nose right now and are you thinking, and i wanted to marry this woman, err, this woman-child???
So tomorrow I’ll be around town, doing my own thing, acting like ooh, what a ho-hum day. Maybe I’ll get a tat, because you always wanted and never got around to getting one. I’ll drop by your crypt because it’s what bereaved people do. Squeeze in some errands, work a little, maybe jog. I’ll skip the flowers. The last time I tried to get you flowers, I almost killed two friends and wrecked the car.
Maybe next year I won’t be so selfish.
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