I always fell asleep when I would meditate at night, even in class. It’s because I was always tired since you get up so early for work. It wasn’t your fault but as soon as the lights were off and my mind was centered (usually at the ten minute mark), I would begin to nod off. Those 5:30 mornings really took their toll on a girl.

Sometimes I would fall back asleep after your alarm went off, barely noticing as you slipped out the door but most of the time I would mumble, ‘Just give me a minute, I’ll get up, I’ll get up’ and I would get up, in a daze. I’d stumble out to the car, smacked in the face by crisp fall mornings, freezing winter mornings, pleasantly surprising spring mornings.

I always hit all the green lights that early, all the way to the train. You always cheered when we hit a red one, even if it meant you’d be late because it meant you could give me a kiss while we waited for the light to change even though I probably hadn’t brushed my teeth yet and my hair was a mess. You’d hop out right under the subway tracks and I’d wave goodbye and NPR and I would drive home as the sun rose up ahead of me on the highway.

I would be alright as the day wore on but slowly, the lack of sleep would creep up on me. By mid-afternoon, I needed a coffee and by meditation at night, I was dozing off, my head often snapping down onto my chest. I vowed to go to sleep earlier, vowed to spend less time at your place, tried to get a nap in when I could. Nothing really ever worked and over the course of months and months, I adjusted to my life as a perpetually tired but perpetually happy girl.

…

I get plenty of sleep now. I’m in bed at 10 pm sometimes. With a book. Or my laptop. I try to prolong that inevitable moment when I have to shut the light off and tuck under the covers even if it means watching youtube videos I’ve already seen or reading the same paragraph in my book over and over. I hate that moment. That moment when I realize you aren’t there and that my pillow, which I have strategically placed next to me, is a poor substitute.

I have been taking such good care of myself. Eating well and seeing friends and making plans for things to do. New things. Fun things. And sleeping. Oh yes, with the sleeping.

On Wednesday night, I had been holding myself together all day. It had been a struggle but I had done it. I had concentrated on whatever was in front of me, had focused on a project at work, on a phone call with a friend. But I suppose, by the time I sat in the chair to meditate and by the time someone had flicked the light off, my mind had had enough with the focusing.

I meant to bring to mind the mantra, to clear my head and think of nothing but my brain wanted only to think of you. And so I did.

I thought about the time we made a gingerbread house at your mom’s house around Christmas time. How she was using the mixer to whip the icing and how she kept saying it had to be stiff and hard and how you and I kept saying, “HOW HARD DOES IT HAVE TO GET? I mean, HOW HARD and HOW STIFF?”

And your mom smacked you in the arm and told you to stop being gross but I thought it was hilarious.

I thought about the way you always drive barefoot.

That time we waited outside in 20 degree weather for a table at Grimaldi’s.

The way you never seem to know when to cross the street, despite the blatant WALK/DON’T WALK signs.

The way you always gave me a bite of your food at a restaurant, always made sure I had a ‘good bite’, taking care to get all the best things onto the fork for me.

All of these things, racing through my mind, unable to stop. At first, I kept trying to bring my attention back but I realized it was futile. I only wanted to think of you. I finally surrendered and almost selfishly, deliciously allowed myself to think of nothing but you for minutes and minutes at a time.

I knew that I would eventually calm down. Knew that I would center myself before a half hour was up.

But those first few minutes were all about you.

And there in the dark, I didn’t nod off or lightly doze.

No, there in the dark, thinking of you, I cried.