hurricane of love.

This week. This week. Five years ago.
I've wanted, ached for the words to really start to come. They won't. No matter how much I want them, too. It's just too much.
I can't speak for him yet, so I'm going to try to speak for myself.
On March 14 five years ago, the world changed. I have never experienced a pit in myself so deep. It's the most helpless I've ever felt as my heart ripped in two.
You know, I really do believe the human experience is so universal. We all feel the same things no matter who we are, but, often, just for different reasons. That's why I read what I read about other people's lives and that's why I write what I write about. That's why when you come to me about something in your life, I often relate it to something I've experienced in mine. Not because I'm trying to compete, but I'm trying to relate. Trying to tap you on the shoulder and say, hey, I know how that feels and it hurts really bad or it's amazing or it's going to get better. Just letting you know you're not alone, because that's what I always want to know. That someone else gets it.
However, this week five years ago, there was no way I could've or anyone could've grasped it, related to it, helped it, changed it, made it go away or get better.
This year, when the day rolled around, as always, I woke up with that faint breaking feeling in my heart just knowing what someone else out there was waking up to. It was a reality check for me of just how much I take forgranted and get wrapped up with. And, also just how much life goes on in five years and yet doesn't at the same time.
I remember that day, and the ones that followed so vividly. I remember how soaked I got running through the rain to get somewhere to find some answers and then how soaked I got in my own tears at the realization that sometimes nightmares do come true. I remember the phone calls. I remember the text messages. Everything just felt a million times bigger and more intense than anything I had ever experienced and I felt so, so small.
I remember driving later that day looking for something, anything and a song came on that I hadn't really listened to before and it just hit. The sun bounced off my windshield and the sky cleared and words came that I just couldn't seem to find. It became an anthem.

 He called. We came a runnin. As fast as we could after taking a wrong turn and going in the total opposite direction. (Remember when we saw the little kids playing on the tree branch?) We didn't know what purpose we had in being there. Being invited in in the darkest hours of one's life feels like a huge responsibility, but also a huge honor. We were just going to be whatever we needed to be, whatever we were wanted for. We just wanted to be there.
A different, and of course, appropriate soundtrack accompanied our journey this trip. A first listen to "Sky Blue Sky" was the perfect preparation.

 We were just trying to understand. Everything. Nothing made sense anymore. And I couldn't help but think about how all of the confusion, the constant thoughts swirling in my head had to be spinning in a terrifying way for him. How nothing possibly could've made sense anymore. How nothing would ever be the same. But, I would try to understand, either way.
When we finally got there. It took everything in me not to burst into tears at the sight of his sweet, innocent face. It was still there, but you could see that overnight he had changed. He grew up. We followed his lead to do whatever we needed. Turns out, all he wanted was just some time away.
We sat in the car parked outside of his hide out, all the lights inside on and burning and fumbled through music to find the perfect song (of course) and offered a gift to ease his mind. As we all inhaled and exhaled, we traveled somewhere else, and I'll never forget, after the story-telling was over and we scrambled to try to clean up the guts he had just spilled, he laughed, that unmistakable laugh. You know the one.

I made that journey several times. I wouldve done it a million. I've made it accidently once or twice since. The feelings always flood back in a way that is so suffocating I have to roll the windows down in order to breathe.
I'll never forget the circus (it was intense, wasn't it?) of it all. I'll never forget how calm he remained. I'll never forget walking in a line clutching the hands of my best and newest friends just hoping the energy of our chain would be enough to keep his legs moving. It was the most powerful experience of my life and I will never forget it. Ever.
I remember the longest line of cars I've ever seen going to the same destination. I remember the silence on our way. The chain smoking. Almost having to pinch ourselves to be sure this was all real. I remember us talking about him and just how much we admired and loved him. About how much he was going to need from us, but more importantly, how much we wanted to give him. Everything.
When it was all over, in a ceremonial way, anyway, we traveled again. We all felt this urge to feel something different. Something to numb us down. To regain our strength. The windows went down and we tore out every page of a stack of magazines and through them out of the window with the music playing as loud as it could. He was behind us. We just wanted him to see something different. Hundreds of pages flying through the air on a country road none of us knew.
We were treated like family that day. We surrounded him like an army. For some that day could've served as a chapter closed, for him, it was the start of a whole new fucking book. Blank pages staring us all in the face. I don't know if I have ever or will ever experience love like that. And, you were right, it was like a hurricane. He, the eye, and we just spinning around him going where ever he wanted to land.

It was the most painful week of my life, and for him, it's the rest of his life. The thought of that for me is almost unbearable. For the last five years, I have been so proud to know him, to be inside the eye of his storm. To watch him plow through life, and, most importantly, live. So incredibly honored and grateful for that.
There is so much more to this story, his story. He's filling his own pages and I hope to help, yearn for it really. It'll come. See, there's a storm brewing inside of me, too. But, he is most definitely still the eye of it.