these things happen.
So we're back at it again. I feel bad that I had a week off and I didn't manage to write a single thing. Maybe it's time to just accept that as I reach the end of my fourth decade here on Earth, I've just run out of steam. That sounds so dire, doesn't it? I don't mean it to be as awful as it sounds. But maybe it is.
One whole year. I figured if the anniversary of your passing couldn't get me to pound out a few words at the glowing screen tonight, maybe nothing at all could. I don't know, man. On the one hand, I have a feeling you'd tell me to not be so dramatic, it's just a day like any other. On the other hand, I feel like the past year has slid by and maybe I haven't done enough, I haven't been dramatic enough, if that makes any sense.
Probably not. But, dude, I couldn't even keep the watch wound.
Just a stupid little challenge I invented for myself. You know that watch you gave me? The one that is too nice and too expensive for me to ever wear? And if I'm being honest, I'm just too much of a vacuous slave to our tech overlords: I like my cool Garmin watch that keeps track of a bunch of useless metrics and vibrates on my wrist if someone likes a story I posted on Instagram. A GPS smartwatch is about as far away as one can get from a Swiss mechanical on the timepiece spectrum, and it's clear where my allegiances lie.
It's funny, isn't it? I'm the one who got you interested in this brand of watch, when I told you “If I ever had the money to buy a fancy Swiss watch, this is what I'd get.” You had never even heard of them. A few months later you were so far down the rabbit hole I thought we might never see you again.
So you got me this watch for my birthday, four years ago. I don't even know where you came up with the money, really. It kind of frightened me when you told me that you'd ordered it. And there was a whole bunch of drama where it was delayed and I didn't end up getting it until we met up the first time post-COVID, and I remember being slightly annoyed that it came in a huge box that wouldn't fit in my suitcase.
It's a beautiful, lovely watch. It's awesome and rad beyond description. And yet I will probably never ever wear it out in the world. I wore it outside of my house once, and only once: on your wedding day, because I knew it would make you happy. It did. “It really does look good on you,” you said as we sat across from each other at a restaurant table after the ceremony.
Anyhow. The watch spends most of its time on a little shelf of my old watches in a closet. I once expressed to you how I might be inclined to wear it sometimes but the fact that it had to be wound or worn in order to keep running was an impediment to impromptu decisions to put it on. Having to set it each time was just that smallest extra layer of friction that meant it would probably spend the rest of its existence in the closet.
You sent me links to little contraptions that I could buy off Amazon that would keep automatic watches wound, things that looked like a ferris wheel for watches. Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna be getting one of those anytime soon.
So, I don't know, for no reason at all a few weeks ago I wound it up, put it on, and set the time. And at that moment, a thought popped into my head, “I wonder if I can keep it running until the anniversary of his passing?” I tried to wear it in the evenings, after I'd got home, maybe for an hour or two, and I'd also give it a good winding every time as well.
I was diligent. Until I wasn't. Which was last night. I will admit, as the date approached, I felt more and more unstable in terms of my emotions and my ability to keep track of things. But maybe that's just a convenient excuse. The point is, last night, I forgot to wear it and I forgot to wind it.
And, since it has been a ritual so associated with evenings, I didn't think too much about it this morning. I went out into the world, doing my things, trying my best to not be bummed out, to just live my life and make today a day like any other.
We got home. I realized it was only about an hour until the precise moment. How can I forget the actual time it happened? I mean, it doesn't matter. You were gone already in so many ways, there was no turning back. But, there's still something there, about the point where it became official. Perhaps we all just look for something, anything to cling to, a point of reference in what had been a week of utter fucking despair.
The time. Oh! The watch! Fuck! I forgot! I rushed to the closet and saw that the second hand wasn't moving. Damn, damn, damn. I failed even at this. The weirdest thing was that I realized it had stopped a mere twenty minutes before I'd remembered it. Part of me laments not remembering just twenty minutes or so earlier, and I probably could've succeeded at this (again, totally self-invented and pointless) challenge.
But it also kinda tripped me out that I had remembered then, so close to the point where it stopped ticking. And how close it was to the time where you stopped ticking as well, one year ago. Like how stopped clocks can be used to mark the times of accidents or disasters. It doesn't even make sense in the most generous of interpretations, but somehow I like to think that you were reaching out and reminding me about the watch.
I'm sorry I couldn't keep it wound. I know, you'd say these things happen, it's not a big deal. But still, I cried a little. You asked me why I was upset, why I cried in the hospital room, so I doubt you'd have much tolerance for me doing so over a stopped watch.
I long suspected you were always putting up a bit of a front when you expressed attitudes like that. I even shot something back at you then, a bit incredulous that you earnestly asked why I'd be upset in such a moment.
I've been told, after you passed, that a lot of it was indeed a facade. That you always wanted to appear brave to me. To look invincible. I don't know, I think back to those moments one year ago as little as possible, to be honest. But, you did seem brave. You did seem to have made such a clear choice, it hurt more for me, I think. How could your decision be so cut and dry?
But I try to find solace in that now. I try to remind myself that you made the decision because it was clear to you that it was the right way to proceed. “I just hope I can face it like you in the end.”
I'm trying. I'll keep it wound for as long as I can.