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20 February 2008 @ 02:08 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 216: Question 216  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 780


Impossible.


I still remember all the things I did with my wife. I remember when silly, childish sleepovers turned into her curled up in my bed, cradled by my arms. I remember how she used to make a vague attempt at hiding under my bed a couple of times when my parents passed by the door, even though my parents never, really, minded that much about her sleeping with me in my bed, in their house. I remember all the places we had sex, how they felt, how they smelt, how it was just to be with her, so entwined that we seemed one being. I miss that, and, I haven’t had such a close attachment to another person since her death, and I doubt whether I will ever again. You don’t form a close, immediate bond with someone you meet in your teenage years, and just, find someone else, easily, after they die. Neither can I, sometimes, in my darkest hours, bear the thought of just, replacing her with someone else. Not that finding someone else to love, to be with, would be replacing her, of course, I know that, but still, it wouldn’t be the same, could never, be the same.

Stella, Mac, and the rest of co-workers allow me to keep a precious pretence of sensibility and complete happiness. When I speak of a fictional family that once existed, in some form, most of them don’t know the difference, and those that don’t, never correct me or tell me off. Those that don’t know about my past, about the tragedies I have been subject to, never are interested in my family life to the point of intrusion and discovery of my lack of, well, anybody else living in my house. Mind you, I do not think this is a selfish act, since most of us are New Yorkers in some form, and, as such, are very busy people, not to mind, people who are trained somewhat by our city, to be, unobtrusive. Simply put, my co-workers know that our private lives, are indeed, our private lives. They are not subject to regular scrutinous examination, and are, really, to be talked about after polite, direct, inquiry. I make this sound rather regulated and complicated, but, it’s not. We respect each other’s privacy, that’s all. A regular examination of the wellbeing of all people in a person’s family is not needed, because a simple “How are you going?”, suffices just fine.

Marianne was special, because she, with regularity, made the impossible possible for me. When I did not think I could be happier with my life, or could not be happier on a particular day, she would delicately draw down my boxer shorts, or impromptus, take me to a play in the park. I surprised her too, by doing equally as magical, loving things, but this realistic realisation of impossible feelings is something she made me see through my very own eyes, something which I can really hope I made her see too. She was committed to me, to making me happy, as I was to her, and her own happiness. Think about is for a second, if someone can make you happier than you thought possible, how do you survive without them? To be honest, I don’t know how I have survived without my impossible creating Marianne. She was like magic, and she breathed existential happiness, and, she made the impossible possible, plausible even, as if it, as if any matter, was never really an impossible matter at all.

I am grateful for my life, and the fact that I continue to exist without having being maimed or rendered incapable of serious, dependable thought. However, the thing is, I have lost, the love of my life, my partner, my lover, my other half, and, not only that, but my two sons have died as well. And, I miss them, all, terribly, like nothing else, with a sadness in the pit of my being that feels, so deep, and dark, and beyond repair. However, because of them, because of Marianne, Michael and Christopher, I continue to live, as they gave me happiness and completeness beyond my wildest dreams. I know, every day without them is bitterly painful in some ways, but, in other ways, I am happy, because, what time I had with my wife and sons, was wonderful, splendid and complete. Marianne, my wife, and Michael and Christopher, my sons, each, in their own individual way, made my wildest, most impossible dreams, possible, they made them, into, real realisations of the imagined whim, the errant thought or dream. For that, I am ever grateful, ever loved, and ever happy.
 
 
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