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journal entry 002.
I often wonder what you would look like if you’d still been alive - if the wrinkles by your eyes would deepen, or if the beard that hugged your chin for so many years would be gone, despite your protests and promises to never shave it. I wonder if your hands would still be rough, or if they’d suddenly get softer as you aged with time. Maybe you’d grow your hair out again, or perhaps you’d find more blank skin to cover in tattoos.
Part of me hates that I’ll never know.
I really wish you could see Lilah and how grown she is now. She has your smile, and the same sense of humor you did, and for that I’m extremely grateful - but I hate that the world ripped you away from her. She loves Fergie, don’t get me wrong. He’s a wonderful father, and I’m so, so thankful they have each other - but I can hear her in the late nights, talking to you and asking where you are.
It hurts my heart that I can’t protect her from the pain I know she feels, too. She was too young to go through a loss like this, and some days I resent you for it. For leaving her. Because dammit Stone, she needed you. Were drugs really that important to you that you forgot about the one thing that was supposed to matter to you? Take me out of the equation - didn’t you think about Lilah? She still needs you, and I don’t know how to help her. I don’t know how many times I can explain to her that you’re not coming home - it’s unfair.
I try not to fault you for facing your demons and giving into their temptations, but I wish you would’ve thought of her and reconsidered.
I don’t know - I have a lot of feelings and mixed emotions about your death. I miss you, and I know that you’ll always live on in my heart, but I wish you hadn’t been so stupid to shove that needle in your arm. Sometimes I worry that I’ll forget what you look like, or how your voice sounds, and grief hits me like a freight train - pain demanding to be felt after months, and months of pushing it away. As happy as I am with my life - my husband, Lilah, our unborn child, our dog - I always miss you, in ways I don’t quite understand. I find myself longing for late night conversations and laughing at your dumb jokes, sharing cups of coffee at four in the morning like we once had.
Loving you wasn’t enough to save you, that I know - but I wish it was.
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