Alone

I have not spoken to a person in months. I just couldn’t take the looks of pity from my friends and family. It has just been Sam and me, and he does not offer much in conversation.

Jack and I had always talked about this, living in the wilderness. Away from everybody, just the two of us. Sam loves being able to chase all the animals and of course marking all the trees.

I remember getting Sam years ago. Jack and I went to a local shelter. I told Jack we were only there to look; I knew we didn’t want a dog yet. We asked to see Sam in a private room, give him pets, treats, and love. He was just the happiest dog and he wanted to meet everybody. Of course, Jack was able to find the perfect spot near Sam’s belly that made him melt into the floor. It made our hearts melt and we brought him home that night.

Jack and I had a fairly normal life. We worked, hung out with friends, went to the dog park, and took camping trips when we had the time. We also loved just watching T.V with some take out or going out to a bar. It was simple, I was happy.

Then there was that day last may Jack was getting out of breath from simple activities. He always assumed he was fine, and the feelings would pass. But later that afternoon he felt much worse and told me to call 911. By the time the ambulance was on the way he was on the floor struggling to stay conscious. When the paramedics arrived, there was nothing they could do. Jack was gone.

The next month I couldn’t work. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t eat. There were days that I only stopped crying when I finally passed out from exhaustion, I would still wake up with tear-stained cheeks.

It feels like a nightmare to lose someone but see them in everything around you. Jack and I had bought the house together, everything in it had a story from our past. I would wake up thinking he was in the living room watching some sci-fi show because I always slept later than him. I would relive the familiar heavy heartache every time I remembered he was gone and not coming back.

I started to clear the house out, selling and donating everything. I couldn’t live in this house anymore. I couldn’t handle my friends and family checking in on me, seeing if I was okay. They had their own lives, and I knew I couldn’t keep living mine. I was lucky, Jack’s life insurance gave me $20,000 to… start again? Cope? I am not sure what it was meant to do but I decided to run.

I found this journal tucked away in a closet. Jack had given it to me a while ago for a special occasion or just because he thought I would like it; I really don’t remember. It was a small black mole skin journal. It was one of the few things I took with me and Sam. I sold the house and packed my belongings in the car and drove away. I didn’t know where, just not there.

Sam and I ended up in a remote area of Pennsylvania. Sleeping in the car and wandering around for most of the day. I’m not sure if it’s peaceful, mundane, or maybe cathartic. Probably only depressing.

I used to write when I would have small bouts of depression. It would help me process when my mind and body felt overloaded. It seems to help if only to keep me from going insane out here with Sam. Maybe one day I will be able to reach out to friends again. Or be able to go back to some normalcy, whatever that would be.

I just know my life will never be the same.