Con Te Partiro

I made it through Thanksgiving. (The American one. Canadians did it first, a month ago.)


I spoke to my parents and brother, and went over to the Fraternity brother's dinner.
I ended up helping to cook and clean. It was good, kept myself busy and distracted. I enjoyed several moments. I did not even cry until I came home.

I am thankful Wash had a good sense of people. He truly made some wonderful friends in his life who have "adopted" me in a way.
It helps a lot.

Most of my very small group of friends is no longer local. Some that are decided shortly after Wash became ill to just... abandon us. "Come get your stuff you loaned us or I'm throwing it away!"
Suddenly, no more friends to help plan weddings.

No more local friends Graduating.

I cannot stand to be around pregnant or new children yet. The happiness and joy they produce feels like mortal pain to me.

Wash wanted something very specific and Doctor Who related to be done before his memorial service.
I have the supplies. I just cannot bring myself emotionally to do it.
"The Impossible Astronaut"

Except my Time Lord does not come back. There is no second chance. There is no way to cheat Death, not in a long-term.


His TARDIS urn is in the same place. It does not feel like *he* is inside though.
I look at it, and it is beautiful. It is art. It is love. It is Form and Function.

But my Love has become Stardust.

The Memorial is set. Invitations sent, plane tickets bought, pies being made.

This is the hard part. Not watching him in the hospital NuICU, not the wait of the two brain surgeries, not the fights for insurance. Midnight hours of vomiting and pain.
The moments he looked at me with just a little hesitation, willing himself to recall.
The anger. The fights. The physical pain.
Sleep deprivation. Going hungry to keep him fed.
What seemed like a steep climb was no more than an anthill.

This is my Everest, my Kilimanjaro. The 'After'.
The 'Alone'.

The Silence.

Such silence.


He was my best friend for 4 years. My husband for more than 3.
When he became sick, I became his memory.
He told me everything. All he could recall. His feelings. His jokes, and his pain.
I feel like there are two people living in my brain now.
I can hear myself, my inner voice. My Asperger brain continues to think, to ponder, to calculate.
Yet, at the same time, I can always hear him. Sometimes his voice is his, sometimes his words are my own voice. I look outside at my Throne he made for me, and I can remember his descriptions of how he built it. I can remember the nights, his clothes, the smell the welding burns. I can see all the sketches he drew of it, start to finish.
I watch a show; something new or something we have enjoyed before, and I can hear his commentary in my head. I can see his face light up at seeing his favourite actors, yet he's been gone two months.
I look at buildings and architecture like I never have before. I care because of him.

I have not been able to watch any new Doctor Who or Fringe yet.
I wish I was strong enough to. It is overwhelming. Like experiencing emotions from two people at the same time. I wish I could not just recall how much he loved those shows; I wish it did not hurt so much to continue with them right now.
Sensory and emotional overload.

He gave me such love.

He worked so hard to love me, to help show me not to write off all of Humanity.
I don't think there will ever be anyone like him again, not in the ways he was special.
Wash taught me it was possible though. Even at 6 Billion to 1 odds.
6 Billion in my mortal lifetime.

I ignore the probability, to hold onto the possibility Humanity might have someone like him again. The probability is I will not be alive to see who it is, but there is a possibility it can happen again.

My Love is over, in the living sense.


The world does not stop. It cannot. Not for one death. Not for one person. Society would not function unless we had to move on, forget.
But, the world moves, I still have not.
I have no career to go back to.
I have no children to tend or raise.
I have no interest in spending time trying to find a school to give me loans, to finish a degree I won't use.
I have no decades of memories and life to comfort me.
I have no idea what I would even want to do now, with my life, with a long future.

Half the people in my life are telling me to take time for myself right now, go slow, heal myself first.
Half the people in my life are telling me to start moving on, get a job, go finish my degree, move homes.

That's the one thing the WashVoice in my head stays quite silent about. 'Where do we go from here?'

Nothing but the silence of time, space, all eternity.


Mortality is so fleeting. I cannot comprehend setting aside literally one day to "give Thanks".
I had love for 1575 days with my husband.
I was thankful for every one.
I am thankful we made a point to tell each other every day and every night before we fell asleep that we loved each other.
Every night.

We are fragile. We are flesh. We are not forever, like the wind or Silence.

Yet, the chance is there. Another body, another life, another chance for that Love.