The longer Jack is gone, the more I realize that I’ve forgotten more than I remember about him. There are moments — flashes, really — in which I catch sparks of the past… someone mentioning the lottery reminds me of Jack calling me, three weeks into dating, with a plan to play mathematically significant lottery numbers, which we did for several weeks until it became clear that logic didn’t much matter. I still have the first ticket we played with those numbers, though. And seeing an episode of House with Cuddy touching House’s scarred leg brings back the time I first saw Jack’s leg, similarly scarred from a similar surgery.
I saw Jack’s roommate tonight. Of all the people in the world who knew us both, I think he understands what Jack and I both gained and then lost and suffered. He is the only living and external evidence I have that Jack loved me, that Jack wanted to set things right, that Jack was trying until the day he died to get sober… so that we could be together again. It’s odd, how much I forget how important that validation is, until T. shows up and is there to remind me.
I wish I could remember it all at once, but it would hurt too much. I want these bursts of memories to be gifts instead of curses. I have faith that one day they will be. I just have to keep walking until it happens.