I told her I didn’t love you. I told her I didn’t love anyone. I didn’t have love inside of me. I told you I didn’t love you. I told my mother, my sister, my brother-in-law, my best friends. I told them all. I just didn’t tell our babies. I didn’t want to break their hearts. I told her that I only feel empathy.

She told me that she would teach me to love again. That with therapy, I could start feeling emotions again. That I blocked them off because I choose to block them. It’s how I learned to protect myself from getting hurt. I shut all emotions down and out. I felt my heart made out of stone.

I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. I am filled with love.

What I didn’t realize was that it was a different type of love. Unconditional love. I gave equal love to all. I love all of you.

But you. I told you not too long ago that I loved you. That I really meant it. That I finally understood what love was. The day you left me, I whispered it in your ear. I told you I love you.

The day you left me I went through all the stages of grieving. Denial, Anger, Acceptance. All in one fucking day. When I reached the acceptance part, I started calling on your friends and family to come and say their last goodbyes to you. I was in a complete state of acceptance. Didn’t like it, but I accepted it. I didn’t like that I accepted it. It felt as if I didn’t care.

I broke down to my knees on the floor hanging on to a bed post when they told me. Doctor after doctor using words and definitions trying to sound professional, empathetic, but professional nonetheless. “Give me best case scenario and worst case scenario.” I cry to them. They give me the lowdown. The damage that was done. But you were at peace. It was somehow comforting to hear that you never suffered.

 

You and I had a talk once. We hypothetically talked about how it would go down if we murdered each other. You had no plan what so ever. I started asking you how you would do it. You said you would love to stab me multiple times. I laughed and told you it’d be too messy. That you’d get caught immediately. And what about the kids? What if they see all the blood on the bed and our bedroom walls and floors. They’d be horrified. I told you we need to rethink your plan. You started listing different ways of killing me. I poked a problem in each one. How would you move my body? I’m too heavy.  Not a good idea. I told you when you were ready, you and I would figure it out and put a plan in place. We were laughing hysterically.

 

I always told you that when I killed you, that they’d find your body in the shitter outside our front house. Your friends knew, I told everyone. We always joked about it. That I’d still dress you up appropriately, but still dump your body in the shitter.

What is wrong with us? Who talks like that? Who has conversations about ways to murder each other? Anything for a cheap laugh.

 

I had brunch plans at my mother’s this morning. Your mother asked me if I had your Mass Cards and some other items that she needed. I told her to swing by and pick them up. That I’d have them ready for her on the kitchen island. But that I may not be home by the time she came.

 

She did come, she picked them up. Never a “Hi” or a “Hello”, we were home upstairs. Neither Bella nor I heard her walk in. She left without saying anything. Very well.

Peace.

 

I stopped at my mother’s for brunch. My sister Alia, brother-in-law Jerry, their friend Patricia, and a sweet young couple. He’s a Philadelphia Policeman, she’s an auditor at a financial institution. Really pleasant couple. We all talked about life, cultures, and shared stories. Patricia is from Brazil. She told us about her transferring to Philadelphia from Seattle. How she fell in love with Philadelphia the day she came here back in the late 90’s. The people are real. Authentic. What you see is what you get. I love this city. It has everything you’re into. Culture, arts, food, shopping, entertainment, everything. It’s a big city with a small-time mindset. Yes we’re busy, bustling to survive, but who doesn’t? But it grows on you, somehow. I hated it when I came here. I was 18 and all alone. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t know where I was. And then slowly you start to make friends. You get to know the streets. How to get from some place to another. It grows on you.

 

I’ve been laying in bed since we came home writing to you. I wrote to you earlier this morning. The second I woke up to finish yesterday’s letter. I can’t stop writing to you. I’m borderline obsessed. I can do this for the rest of my life, every second, every minute of my remaining days, months, or years. The weekends seem to be my days when I’m free to just write to you. Our weekends used to be plans with friends, or if no one was available, you and I would go see a movie, have dinner, a drink, talk. You always wanted to go to the casino. You loved your slots. You’d wait patiently for me to suggest us going. You’d give me that look, and I’d know what you wanted to do. As a gambler myself, I hated wasting our hard earned money on gambling. I had to pull back. I had to take control of ourselves. I had to make it right. As much as I loved it, I had to stop our obsession. You played along. You didn’t like it, but you understood. Every once in a while, I’d treat you to a night at the casino. I’d sit at my tables, give you your money. You’d lose it, come back in search for me so you could get more money. Sure enough, you’d take a portion of my winnings. Your cute face would come near me, you’d whisper in my ear “I’m not doing well. I lost most of it.”

“No worries baby, here, take these.” I would hand you a stack of chips to cash out and play more. You hardly won any jackpots. But on your best days, you won enough to keep you playing throughout the night. You were a degenerate. I was a degenerate. We had a history you and I back in our earlier years. Our weekly checks would get cashed and you and I would drive to the Tropicana in AC. Almost every night for a couple of years. We always would stop at the White House to grab the best cheese steaks ever made. We would take a couple of ham & cheese with us home for next day lunch or dinner. We also loved going to White Castle to get 25 burgers with pickles. You’d unwrap them in the car while I drive us back home.

 

I’m taking care of our house baby. I’m trying. I changed light bulbs. It didn’t take long for me to change them. I just do it now. You used to hate how I would procrastinate on fixing things around the house. Ever since I started my business. Prior to that, I had a full-time job, and a perceived security. I used to pay more attention to the house in fixing it. Now I need a handy man. I need to call Tony. You had a list of things that you wanted to do. I’m going to see if he’ll have time to come over and fix what’s needed to be fixed. I have to look on your phone to see if you had a list written down. My God do I have stories about you and Tony. LMFAO.

 

Your phone sits next to me every night. I haven’t had the chance to look into it. Actually, I can’t get myself to look into it.

 

You were such a technical retard. I remember the day I got myself the first iPhone. I just got rid of my Motorola Razor flip phone. I set up the iPhone, I show you. I was all giddy. I get you your own. I set it up for you. I call you. You hold it up to your ear and started shaking it near your head. “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask you.

“Answering it.” Your eyes were wide open as you were answering me. It’s that look of “I’m so fucking stupid, but I think I’m answering you intelligently, I hope.” look. No sweetie, you are fucking stupid, and you didn’t answer me intelligently. I shake my head. “How did you survive life this long?” I laugh.

“You’re an idiot. Show me how to answer this fucking phone. I hate it.” You trying to take control back.

“Give it some time, you’ll love it.” I answer.

“I fucking hate it.” You declare.

“Okay, let’s revisit in a month.” I comfort you.

 

Same fucking thing happened with your Macbook Air. You hated going from PC desktop to a Mac laptop early on. I couldn’t pry that fucking laptop off of you after a week. You hated your cars that I got you only to fall in love with each one of them. You were always the extreme in hatred to extreme passion. Once you loved something, it was yours, forever. You’re still alive baby. I will keep you alive for the rest of my life. You will not die. Never.

 

You questioned every decision I made, but you also let me lead. You knew how important it was for a man to lead. To feel as the man of the house. Not in a male chauvinistic way, but evolutionary way. We’re the hunters, we’re the protectors, we’re the leaders. If we don’t get to feel any of them, our purpose in life ceases to matter. You made me feel like a man. I made you feel like a woman. You made me feel like I am your king. I made you feel like your my queen. We made each other feel.

 

You and I booked our trip to Mexico earlier this year. Last year was a blast. An all inclusive five start adult resort with Chris and Dale as they’re members there. This year was supposed to be the family version of the same hotel. We visited it for a day last year, had a great time at their facilities. Dining, spa, adult pool, drinks, and more drinks. You loved the big ass floating swan they had in the pool. You got a sun burn laying all day on it. It was so massive, you took half the pool floating around with it. Every time you got stuck in some corner of the pool, you’d bother the people relaxing by its side to help push you into the center of the pool.

“Mother fucker, this fucking lady keeps telling me to push her. Can’t anyone relax around this joint?” I’m thinking that’s what the people you asked to help you were thinking.

“Vin, could you get me a Chunky Monkey?” That was your drink down there. Some moca latte with rum or some other liquor. You loved it.

We wanted to buy a membership ourselves so that we could have everyone we know experience it with us. We were truly treated like royalty.

So many things happened while were down there, but one of my favorite memories I wrote not too long ago (Edited):

You and I decided to ride scooters into downtown Cancun, and I mean Market 28 downtown.
Taking directions from the rental delivery man, I memorized the map.
“Straight into town.” He says. “3rd circle make a left”. He concludes.
Easy, I say to myself.
You, looking like a Kardashian, hop onto your scooter, I hop on mine. “Follow me” I yell over the rattling noise you were revving the 50cc engine.
We join the road and ride the wind. Fun dodging buses, cars, other motorists. I try to stay within the speed limit, but the devil in me thinks otherwise.
We ride into town. 1 circle… 2 circle…3. Make a left at light. It’s Red. Waiting in traffic to proceed on green. “Babe, we’re making a left here.” I point at path.
I go, but you hang back for a second and follows. In that split second, checking through the side view mirror, I see your large hoop earrings with some assistance from the wind, your helmet landing sideways on your head. Struggling to adjust your helmet while in mid turn, you straighten the wheel with one hand while the other is on the helmet. You almost misse the turn trying to cut in front of a car on your left side that was going straight.
You miraculously make the turn. Some honking and choice words in Spanish ensues. “Thank God she made it.” I think to myself.
I look up, no Market 28. “Hmmm…”
Gas station on our right. Pull up and ask for directions.
I pull into the gas station and stop at the pump where an attendant is filling someone’s car. You pull up and park near the curb.
“Excuse me, how do we get to Market 28?” I ask.
“Straight, make right, straight, market left.” He politely replies.
I guide my scooter over to you.
“Ey” followed by a whistle I hear. I look back in that direction. A blue pickup police truck is parked and facing away from the direction we had arrived from.
Looking back at your direction and not seeing anyone other than you, I turn back at the cop and point at myself “Me?”
John Wayne like he waves me over nodding his head in agreement.
I park my scooter and curiously walk towards the Federales’ decalled truck.
Grin on my face, I approach his rolled down window. Arm resting on the side, I peak inside, his partner, a pleasant looking fake blonde haired female. “Something something Espanyol” in Spanish. I gathered he’s wondering if I spoke his native tongue.
“No officer.” I shake my head. “Sorry, English. Do you speak English?” I question him.
They both shake their heads in denial.
He continues to talk to me while pointing back at the road where we came from. I hear something familiar “……..Red light……”
“You’re saying we ran a red light?” Already aware of what is about to take place. I was ready.
The female cop hands me her phone. Someone who spoke English.
“Hello ser, my friends tell me you broken the law. You disrespect our laws.”
“We did not.” Emphatically I tell him.
“Ser, they say your wife ran red light.”
“She did not.” Laughing at him.
After a few back and forth, he says “give them $100 they let you go.”
“I don’t have $100 on me.”
“Sorry ser, we take bikes.”
“No you’re not. I’ll call the hotel and the rental place. They can come here and settle this. No one is taking nothing. Let me hang up and call them.” I threaten.
“I talk with cop please.” He asks.
Handing the phone back to the female cop, she has a brief discussion and hangs up.
I walk back towards you holding the phone by my ear pretending to be talking with someone. I turn around as if looking for a road sign. My drama teacher would have been proud of my performance. I nod a few times, at one point I ask the cops what road we were on.
I pretend to hang up. Say some random thing to you and turn towards them. Walking as if they’re going to get in trouble, I say to the bald headed cop “I called the hotel and the rental place. They’re sending their people.”
Using her Google Translate, she types a couple of paragraphs. Translated English side reads: Your wife ran red light and speeding. Give us $100. We forget. We are friends.
I enter the following in the English box: How many pesos are we talking about?
She reads it and holds her two fingers making the peace sign. “Dos mil.”
“Uno” I say back.
I ask for her phone back, translate page still open I write: I only have 1,000.
They nod in agreement.
I walk back to my scooter, pop the seat open where our bags are stored. I take my wallet and count 1,000 pesos out of the 5,000 I withdrew earlier at the hotel.
Handed them their pay for the week. We exchanged a few laughs.
Female cop hands me her phone back: where are you going?
“Market 28.” Smiling at her.
“We take you. Follow us.” The all of a sudden English speaking cop says to me.
I get on my scooter. “We’re getting a police escort to the market.” I tell you. “It cost us $50. This story is worth every penny.”

 

The day before, you and I were trying the scooters around the Hotel Zone. You rode with me on the back. We rode for a while around the streets. We came back to the hotel and decided to prank Christopher. I told you to call him and start yelling and crying that we fell off the scooter. We hid in a phone booth overlooking the entrance to the pool. Chris was by chance standing outside facing the pool. He couldn’t see us, but we could see him clearly.

You called his cell. He answered. You started your thing. “Oh my God Chris, we fell off of the scooter. I’m hurt.” crying to him.

We can see Chris panicking. He’s pacing back and forth. Trying to make sense of it all and gather his thoughts. But he was clearly distraught. So we had to stop the prank. You ran to the back entrance laughing your ass off pointing at Chris. He wanted to kill us. He was so mad, but you could tell he was relieved that we were okay. Sorry Christopher. We just had to do it. We had to laugh at your expense.

 

I came home, took Bella food shopping. We went to SAM’s Club. Bought Bogart some treats and a rotisserie chicken to mix with his dry food. Toilet paper and paper towels. Some other essentials, food, maybe 30 minutes worth of shopping. We packed your car and headed to Giant. Bella needed more stuff, food for the week.

I tried to take a nap. I can’t. I need to write. I’m laying in bed just writing. Bella called me down because she wanted to make pizza. She didn’t know how to use the oven yet. I taught her. She made herself a pizza. I may have the leftovers from Tierra last night. Lubna, David and I got the Argentinian Skirt Steak per my recommendation. It was fucking amazing as always. I had maybe 2 bites, took the rest home with me thinking I would make steak and eggs this morning. Then I remembered I was going to brunch. Maybe I’ll have it for dinner tomorrow.

 

I think Bella and I are going to go work out in an hour. I’m going to do my thing and retire to sleep.

 

Baby, don’t you worry about me or the kids. We do miss you dearly each in our own way. I will not dictate to our kids how to deal with your loss. All I need them to know is I’m right here for them. Always will be. They’re amazing fucking kids. I love them so much.

 

I told her I didn’t love you. I was wrong.

 

Good night my sweet.

 

I Love you,

 

Me

 

[Continued…]

 

Bella laid in bed with me. I was working on my laptop. She started to talk. I stopped her. She didn’t know. I was recording her. She made me so proud.