hannah and me (part three)
this time, it will not be on your terms


it's a tough question. one that i have mulled over for years. one that rears it's head in the most inconvenient (but never surprising) of times and places, but neverless, i have to pay attention.

"when is it time to cut the cord?"

having a family, having hannah is making that question a much easier one to be answered. before, it was just me. before, i could swallow it down and convince myself that it was my fault just as much as yours...and yours. before, it was easy to see that it was me making the effort. you see, the cord had already been cut. in some park in odenville, the cord was cut for me. don't you remember? i know you do. but like a weepy, whiny, little dependant bird that had fallen out of the nest before it was time to fly, i knitted the cord back together. slowly, surely, intentionally, bad memories were relegated, hurt feelings were forgiven (never forgotten), and a deliberate push towards making something out of nothing resurrected something that never should've died in the first place. it felt good. i had been lonely without you. to some degree, i always will. and that's not fair. because the same can't be said for you. can it? actions speak louder than words never spoken.

i was nervous about this weekend. i said as much. i didn't know who i would recognize. i didn't know who would recognize me. my fears were realized when the first question i heard as i walked in the house was, "who are you?". it was fair, though. it had been long time. i didn't know who she was either. it was funny, though. after she discovered i was an o'kelley, it didn't matter where the time had gone. in a matter of an hour or two, we were all family again. one...big...happy family. almost...

i am sorry things were busy. i am sorry for headaches. i had one too. always do when i am stressed. of course, you didn't ask, did you? you still should have said good-bye. it wouldn't have taken long. just a minute, and i would've understood. she looks for you in the fucking directory. she calls you the same fucking thing she calls me. you didn't have to say good-bye to me. that happened in odenville. you should've said good-bye to her, though. she hasn't done anything wrong.

you shouldn't have left our shit outside not knowing if we had the means or time to pick it up or where anyone with a truck and some extra time on their hands could've loaded up some extra christmas presents.

i shouldn't be writing this (i can't claim that finding the best way to communicate has ever been my bag). i wish i didn't feel like i had to, or wanted to...

but you should've said good-bye.

good-bye.