I feel in colors

I started painting again.  It's something I have not done in a long time.  I couldn't feel the colors.  Not like I used to. Many things had happened that had blocked it.  I was getting sick all the time.  I had some significant trauma that caused PTSD. The most significant was losing my best friend.  He was my partner at work- like cops have partners.  He was my family.  I had moved to Memphis after college away from my home and family and he was there for me.  The fist thing he said to me was "don't worry partner I got your back."  He did.  Everyday.  Most importantly he was my friend and there was real love there.  I remember many times in a meeting looking across the conference table and knowing exactly what he thought.  

He he is still the person I want to call when I get news of any kind.  If it's bad or good.  Sometimes I forget and I expect to look at my phone and see his number calling me.  Though his number was reassigned to someone else. I talked to the new owner I the number and explained.  They apologized.  There was no fault just that hallow empty feeling in my stomach that I couldn't actually remember how his voice sounded anymore.  

I remember the call.  Stupid details about it like the coppery tatse that stung in the back of my jaw.  It was Christmas Eve... I had just talked to him 6 hours before he died.  A cardiac aneurism the pathologist said he was dead before he hit the ground.  It had seemed cruel to hear it but then I also took comfort in knowing it was quick.  The rest of the day was a blur I was tasked with telling the rest of our team that he had died.  There is nothing more heart crushing than telling someone that someone they cared for had died.  Hearing the pained grief over and over again... it was torture.  It stung a little more each time.  

It took me moving away- back east to start to deal with the profound loss I felt.  I ate nothing but ramen noodles and cupcakes without frosting while laying in bed and trying to figure out how to make sense of a world that he no longer existed in... which was complicated given he was the person I would call to figure that sort of things out.  Grief and fear are truly related.  I felt the same sort of fear response in my grief... I was restless... Hyper aware... I was ready to run.  I eventually did.  It was a good choice- as much as I love Memphis, I needed to move from the environment.  

I think the reason he is so heavily on my mind is that he was 30 when he died.  I'll be 30 this year. It's a strange thing to be confronted daily on my physical limitations but now the idea of mortality.  There were no warning signs for him... he had a cough. 

I miss him.  I miss his soul.  I miss how it felt to be pulled into a hug and feel safe.  The painting came about as I tried to sleep and failed once again.  It's him... the colors... I could feel them. I could feel him.