August 13th 2023 was the absolute worst day of my entire life.
The day Stephen, my partner, passed away after an intense battle with brain stem cancer.
I remember every single thing from that day. Every beep and blip from the hospital monitors, every smell of sanitized linens lining the halls of the Progressive Care Unit, every gaze from the nurses and doctors I'd come to know for months. It is still just as hard to process as it was on that day.
In the weeks following his passing, I can't even count how many times I was told, "It'll get easier" or "It'll get better in time." Well, it doesn't and it hasn't. It just gets different. But I still try to do the things people tell you to do when you lose a loved one. “Remember all the wonderful things,” a coworker told me at his memorial. “Hold on strong to what you shared together,” came from another. Those are supposed to be like magic keys to getting through the pit of despair. The way to get off that downward spiral of traumatic memories that fill that pit. And while I now have a (still) growing collection of those wonderful things - the memories I choose to keep at the front of my mind - very few bring as much joy as the first day we met.
Not a lot of people knew about how we met; we were rarely asked so we never made a big thing of it. It was just our story. That changed when the hospital chaplain came to visit Stephen’s room. He was tall, slender and relatively young. Were it not for his button down shirt with the clerical collar, I'd have probably asked him if he was in the right room. But after an introduction with a kind smile and handshake, he asked, "So how do you know each other?"
“We're partners,” I said with affectionate pride.
He looked warmly at Stephen in his bed, turned back to me and asked with a genuine interest, “How did you two meet?” I wasn't expecting that question and I didn't have the already-planned-out-origin-story ready to tell, but I instantly remembered everything; it was like a movie just started in my mind. And through what was the beginning of tears, I told the chaplain how we came to be.
It was April in 2015. We were both shopping at a Macy’s Department Store — when people still shopped at Macy’s Department Stores. And I spotted him from across several counters and racks of clothes. Our eyes just happened to meet and as I nervously looked away I felt something I’d never felt in the forty-five years of my life. My neck got stiff. My head started tingling. My eyes twitched. It was like I'd been electrocuted. Minus the fried hair and heart attack, of course.
I was about to look again but I was way too nervous. I don't know why. I'd passed by people all day and none of them gave me the jellybeans in the knees feeling. In fact, I don't know I'd had jellybeans in my knees before that moment. I mean, how do they even get there? But after what seemed like a whole discussion with one of the many over thinkers in my head I raised my head and ... he was gone. Sighing, I turned around to leave and there he was … closer! Now I was really freaking out. “What do I do? What do I do?”
The tingling moved further down into my back and all the sudden I thought I was stuck, frozen right there in front of the cologne counter. I swear I was drenched in sweat. Then I said to myself. “I just need to meet him. I need to know him — like, right now. Like, hurry.” My heart skipped a ton of beats, and I thought I was going to pass out, burping and farting on the way down from anxiety. But even as that horrifying thought raced through my mind, all the sudden I got up the nerve to say hello.
“Those are some really funny socks.” I blurted, motioning to a display of what looked like easter themed socks, next to stacks of shirts and jeans.
Oh My God! I can’t believe my first words were about SOCKS! And after dying on the inside just a little and laughing nervously for much too long, he actually giggled a little and we started talking. Right there. Just stopped everything and talked. “I’m Sean,” I said, fumbling on my own name. And he said, “Cool! I’m Stephen.” And during that introduction, we found out that not only did he work where my friend and roommate worked, but he had a brother named Sean and I had a brother named Steven. So, you see, it was totally kismet, our meeting. And in the middle of the men’s department, between the cologne counter and a rack of Lucky Brand Jeans, our friendship and love was born.
It’s so incredibly important to remember the wonderful things. They won’t make things better; they won’t make things easier. But maybe they can fill the pit of despair with warmth. And maybe that warmth will help me hold strong to what we shared together.
