I thought I was doing so well

I thought I was doing so well.  But today I was weak and wanted to call his phone, wanted to hear his voice on the message, wanted to remember him as a real person with a voice and a desire and a brain.  Instead I heard "this account has not set up their voicemail."  30 min on the phone with a sympathetic but unhelpful AT&T confirmed my fears.  For some reason his voicemail had been reset.  For some reason his message was gone forever.  For some reason.  It is such a small thing, I shouldn't have broken down crying.  I hadn't even called the number in 7 or 8 weeks.  But the fact that I couldn't, that even this last vestige of fantasy had been stolen from me before I was ready, it just pushed me over an edge.

I guess this means I can give up his phone account now, save myself $50 a month that I didn't need to be spending.

Am I ready to let go of his phone line?  Am I ready for someone else to have his number?  Of course not.  But I wasn't ready for any of this.

I go along and I do so well, and I look at myself and think "I sure am doing well!"  But that's because I skim past the injustice of it.  I ignore the unfairness.  I luxuriate so much in the silver linings that it's as if there is no cloud at all.  A cloud is just water vapor.  A cloud is just passing through.  Silver stays. Silver can be melted down and fashioned into something else.

I can't say this is unfair, because life and death are never fair.  I can't shout at God because I just don't believe there is this grand order to things.  I didn't do anything wrong.  Keith didn't really do anything wrong (I specifically avoid the small things that perhaps could have maybe made some small difference).  We had good luck and then we had bad luck.  I will never be the same now that he is gone, but I'm mostly the same person I've always been.  This sucks, but spending months or years just swimming in the suckiness of it seems so wrong.