Scott's friend Chad passed away a little over a year ago.
Chad and Scott were friends for years and years and years, playing against each other in baseball and later becoming college roommates before Scott left the school.
Chad had diabetes pretty badly.
He died in a car crash driving home a week before Scott's 25th birthday.
It took Scott three or four days before he even talked about Chad's death. And it took at least two hours into that conversation for Scott to shed a tear. When he finally did let them fall, it seemed as though they might never stop. Nothing has hurt me as watching Scott in so much frustrated, grieving pain that night 15 months ago.
Since then, he's made an occassional Chad reference, repeating one of the guy's jokes or witty statements. He's been to his gravesite just a few times.
How we deal with loss and emotions is one of the areas where Scott and I differ most. I have at least one meltdown a month and I wear my heart on my sleeve. I am sensitive and emotional and a definite Pisces. Scott keeps it together, whether to keep us together or to be the manly man in the room. He uses logic rather than emotions and talks himself out of any weak moments. He's always "strong."
I use quotes because I don't think it's always necessarily a good kind of strong.
I guess a happy medium is good in this situation. Anyway.
Yesterday, he began work at a job near where the cemetery is. Tonight, we watched a TV show that dealt with car crashes. I never made the connection, but knew something had been bothering Scott for at least a couple of days.
I was just about to let it drop after hearing him say nothing was wrong over and over again. But then, he told me what was on his mind. And although he kept saying how we needed to get some sleep or fold the laundry or whatever else, he kept going, sharing memories of Chad for more than an hour as I sat on the couch facing him, trying my hardest to keep from crying myself.
Stories of Denny the Printer; low blood sugar laughs (at the time) and near-constant chuckles later, Scott finally smiled for the first time in two days. A true smile, at least.
He said he feels better, and I truly hope so. But I can't help feeling helpless. This is the one thing in our three years together that I just can't make better for him. And I won't be able to do that in three more years or three decades.
I suggested we make a donation in Chad's name to a diabetes foundation for important dates like his birthday or even our wedding, or even just when he creeps into Scott's mind.
That doesn't help Scott, though, and his grieving.
But I believe there are other Scott-like creatures out there; people who know and love a Chad-like guy. Although it really seems like maybe he was one in a million.
I tell Scott how lucky he was to have had that in his life, even if it seems like not quite long enough.
Says he's alright.
And we move on.