Come Take a Ride Down Memory Lane....

Tomorrow it’s been six months since Jason died.  Six. Months.

In some moments it seems like a million years have passed, and in another I feel like he should just be walking through the door singing his “Welcome Home song.”   IYKYK

Today I feel a strong urge to talk about him. To remember him. To share him with people in an effort to somehow keep him with me....to keep his memories out there. So, here goes some stream of consciousness for you....hang on. With Big Daddy it could be a wild ride.

Jason and I met in an unconventional way back in the day.  I answered a personal ad in the newspaper and Jason was on the other end.   Tinder for the old folks I guess.   I answered ONE ad out of thousands.   And I met Jason.

What you maybe don’t know is that when we met, I wasn’t ready.   I was recently divorced, and I did everything in my power to push him away.   Jason was all in.   (That’s how he did things) He wanted me and he knew we would be good together, but I wouldn’t budge.   I told him to go away.   To leave me alone.   And to a certain degree he did, but when I called one night and said “I’m ready,” he said “give me an hour and meet me at home.”   What I didn’t know was he was on a date.   (Sorry "clippy hair girl", he couldn't remember your name.). He literally left her, came to his house to meet me, and we never parted again.  

I asked him why he waited.   Why he fought so hard for me.   He said “because you’re lucky I guess.”   And Man was I.

Jason was a character.   And man did he leave me with some great memories.  Good ones.   Hilarious ones.   Sweet ones.   And ones that annoyed the crap out of me.

Jason traveled a lot for his job.   He ate dinner alone a lot in restaurants and made a habit of being chatty with the wait staff.   It used to make me ABSOLUTELY NUTS.    We would be having dinner and he ends up knowing more about the waitress than some of his own family, and he would crack jokes and be so chatty.   Or he would crack a joke to a teenage staff and ask them to wrap up the butter blob left on his plate, to which he would chuckle and they would stare blankly at him.   His humor was wasted on so many young servers.  I got so annoyed.   Now I smile at the memory.

Jason loved a good party.  (As long as it was over by 8:30).  He would make sure the house was stocked with booze and he would walk around (sometimes run around) making sure everyone took a pull of the frozen bottle of fireball.   No, you cannot put it in a cup.   Yes you MUST take a pull. Even during Covid.  But his frivolity often ended early by him saying in a matter of fact tone, “I’m going to bed!  See ya’ll tomorrow!”   Sometimes he went, sometimes he would end up in bed with friends laughing with him, and inevitably he would end up in the living room giving a good stretch in his undies and t shirt.   I miss that life of the party.

Jason ran away from me once.   We were camping.   He was VERY happy after a day of floating on the river and drinks with family.   It was time for him to be done, so I took his bottle and put it inside.   While I was away, for a fraction of a few minutes, he disappeared after breaking into my sisters’ camper and yelling obscenities at my brother.   When I went back to get him, he was gone.   I couldn’t find him.   That jerk was hiding from me because he knew I was going to make him go to bed.   I found him sitting under the nose of our camper in his chair.   Shirt off, sweaty, and looking longingly at the party at the camper across the road.   (They were by the way, trying not to make eye contact with him.  Haha).  I wrangled him inside, and heard him giggling in the shower to himself at how funny he thought he was for running away.   I wish I could find his silly ass just hiding from me.

Jason worked hard.   His job and his reputation were very important to him.   A lot of people didn’t know him this way because he was such a card.   So inappropriate at times, and loved his good time.   But he was a true professional with an amazing work ethic.   He was professional, and knowledgeable, and genuinely cared about what he did.   A lot of people might be surprised to know he was a leader in his industry and was very well respected.   He used to use his “work voice “ on me when he was trying to explain something and it made me so mad.   I miss hearing that work voice from the office.

He was loyal.  And kind.   And loving.   And forgiving.   And FUNNY.   He wore a gold Cleopatra wig, he danced to the Beastie boys.   He loved metal and hair bands, but mostly he loved Meatloaf.  He wore a tinfoil hat and loved conspiracy theories.   Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas was his favorite holiday movie, followed closely by The Night Before.

He drank whiskey, and loved good whiskey and good rum, but would drink cheap shit because he took a weird pride in saving pennies in weird ways.    He drove a giant truck that he loved, even though he didn’t seem like a “truck guy.”   His camper was his happy place.  

He taught me how to play black jack and told me you either hit or stay on a 6, but whatever you choose you do it EVERY TIME.  

He loved pizza, and hated ketchup.  

He once bought a dvd player and snuck it into the house and hooked it up when I was gone thinking I wouldn’t notice.   I did.

Our first kiss was terrible.   Our last was too.   But all the ones in between could make me weak in the knees.   

He would jump over a quarter to pick up a dime.   He would go to the grocery store for milk an come home with 5 boxes of cereal because it was on sale, but would forget the milk.  He hated throwing food away.  

He would randomly cry because he was so happy with our life and it would freak the kids out.   He sang songs he made up ALL THE TIME.   He loved camping, and the mountains, and he loved Hawaii and the mai tais.   We had so many plans to keep traveling and loving this silly sweet life of ours.    

He got me.   He fixed the broken parts of me. He gave me two beautiful kids.   He let me have another dog when Kota died.   He was honest.   He told me the truth even when I didn’t want to hear it.

He loved me.   So. Very. Much.

I was lucky y’all.   So lucky to have this man.    

He’s been gone for six months.   Sharing these things makes that fact a little easier to take.   Like keeping parts of him alive.   Remember him with me, it makes me feel less alone.