Even on my best pre-WiDeaux days, rain almost always left me feeling down. Today was no exception. It's finally (17 days along) starting to sink in: he's never coming back. Ever. What took me so long? It's odd--it's not that I didn't know, from the start, that he wasn't coming back. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things. Maybe the shock of the whole ordeal is just now starting to wear off, or maybe I'm operating on a different plane of consciousness, or maybe it's the ginko biloba. Whatever the reason, I'm starting to really feel the loss.
Fear not! I'm not going to turn him into Saint Bunny now. He liked to say, with great pride, that he could make me angrier than anyone else on the planet. It was true--he could. And did. A lot. We both knew each other so well that we knew where each other's vulnerabilities--or hot buttons--were. On the plus side, we could say more to each other with a glance than most people can say with paragraphs. We could often finish each other's sentences, and could sometimes actually read each other's thoughts. We had our own silly words for things--like if I was going to the store and he asked me to get some pinks, I knew he meant Sweet 'N Low. Back then, the only widows in the house were at laundry time--that's what we called socks who'd lost their mates. I have a habit of being unable to remember the proper names for TV shows, but if I asked if Crow was on, he knew I meant Antiques Roadshow.
We bickered incessantly, mostly at his instigation, but it was almost always good-natured and left us laughing 9 times out of 10. One of the perrenial bickering topics was which of us was more intelligent. We tested each other's IQ in every conceivable way. What can I say? That's what nerds bicker about. In truth, we were pretty evenly matched, with some areas of shared strength (history, entertainment, science) and other areas where one was clearly the dominator (his--space travel, sports, geography; mine--literature, art, foreign phrases). Of course, we played many games of Jeopardy and Trivial Pursuit. Individually, we were formidable, but together, we were virtually unbeatable. One group of friends went so far as to ban us from being on the same team.
He didn't have the best fashion sense, but I always asked him how my outfits looked before I left home. That's because I knew he would be brutally--and I do mean brutally--honest. Once, a waxer got overzealous with me, confusing my request to give me a natural look with a desire to look like Joan Crawford--high, pencil-thin arches. I hoped it didn't look as bad as I thought, so when I got home, I asked him if he noticed anything different.
He studied my face for a minute, then proclaimed, "You look...clownish!" Needless to say, that was the wrong thing to say. But it was classic Bunny--totally unvarnished. Now I won't have those brutal assessments, and I'll miss them. I miss the stupid little things like that. He was my sounding board, too--many times he played juror as I got cases ready for trial. He also gave me the male perspective on different topics.
Most importantly, every day, for the past 26 or so years, we said "I love you." to each other at least once (but usually many more times) a day So now, while I miss even his constant chattering (another source of bickering), those are the three words I miss most.
Now, pipe down, damnit--Crow's about to start.
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