I don't remember ever hearing Mike sing this song before. But I hear his voice coming through my iPod, singing something about Juanita in the shadows. Before that he sang a Stan Rogers song, "I want to see your smiling face 45 years from now." He used to sing that song to me and when he played it in public I had that little secret, knowing that he was singing it to me. But he didn't last for 45 years to see my smiling face. I know he didn't expect to die. I certainly never considered he would leave me that way. It just plain sucks.
I suppose I'm inflicting some sort of intentional torture on myself, sitting here at 2 o'clock in the morning listening to my dead boyfriend sing songs to me. Maybe, with enough time I'll be able to harden my heart to his music. Maybe, with enough time it won't make me cry. I don't want to let it go, don't want to forget his incredible guitar playing, the funny way he sang/half sang, sometimes taking the melody into unfamilar territory. I don't want to forget his face. Sometimes I picture his hands or the way the back of neck looked or his walk and I try to sear the details into my memory. I put on his fingerpicks that are way too big for my fingers, trying to feel some sort of connection with him.
No, I haven't had one of those moments people claim they have when a loved one dies. I haven't felt he was sending me any kind of message. I haven't found a hidden note from him. But I promised him that as long as I live, that part of him will continue. And here I am at 2 o'clock in the morning, my bed a battleground that gives me no peace, sitting here listening to his voice, missing him, keeping him alive in my heart like I promised him I would do. He would tell me it's plum pitiful.