When we talked about living together (which Diana called “co-habitating”), she always said she didn’t want to move into my place, or to have me move into hers.
Instead, she felt it was important to create a new space together, which was exciting to both of us. And I think we were more than ready to live together (providing I could re-home my cats). I was so eager to do this when my lease ended in January. In fact, we almost rented a house in Wilton together last summer, but I was stuck in a lease.
When I recently brought up living together, (just a few days before her suicide, in fact) she said she couldn’t ask me to re-home my cats. I told her I was willing if that was the only remaining barrier to co-habitating. Then she said she also “didn’t really want” to depend on me. It didn’t sound like a closed door, just some trepidation. I so wish I’d explored that conversation further. I believe this stemmed from trauma and fear, and that we could have worked through that. I had no idea that she would only be here a few more days.
It’s like she just lost sight of the future we’d planned together … started believing what the world was reflecting back at her for so long, and lost hope. It feels like she just slipped through my fingers somehow, and took all of our dreams for the future with her.
There’s so much irony in moving many of her things into my space anyway, without her here, instead of being able to co-create a new space together.
I miss her so much. Most days, my whole body hurts.
Diana, I love you as big as the galaxy, now and forever. I hope I did your many possessions and your beautiful and comforting space much justice over the past seven weeks. I did my best. I miss you, baby love.