Some days I tell myself he's just gone.

 Not gone-gone.

Just gone.

Like his sister at college.

Busy. Distracted. Building a life somewhere else.

 I tell myself he's working out of town. Driving roads I've never seen. Stopping at little bars with neon signs in the windows and forgetting to send me pictures. Sleeping in cheap hotels and eating terrible food. Too busy to call his mom back.

 He'll call when he gets a chance.

 Some days, I tell myself he got married.

 Packed up his things and moved halfway across the country. Started over somewhere new. Maybe he's painting walls in a house I haven't seen yet. Maybe he's arguing with his wife over where to hang pictures. Maybe he's standing in a kitchen laughing about something stupid.

 Once they get settled, they'll come visit.

 Some days I tell myself he joined the military.

 Or the CIA.

 Or hopped on a tour bus with one of his favorite musicians and disappeared into the kind of adventure he always deserved.

 Maybe he's living his best life.

 Maybe he's standing on a stage somewhere.

 Maybe he's sitting around a campfire somewhere.

 Maybe he's on top of Daniel Trail watching the sunset and just hasn't checked his phone.

 Maybe he'll walk through my front door when he isn't so busy.

Maybe.

I know these things aren't true.

 At least part of me does.

 But the other part...

The part that has to get out of bed.

The part that has to answer phones and smile at people and buy groceries and pretend the world still makes sense...

That part needs them to be true.

 Because I can handle him being gone.

I can handle him being somewhere else.

 I can handle missing him.

 What I can't handle is forever.

 I can talk about yesterday.

 I can talk about last month.

 I can even talk about the day everything changed.

 But I cannot stand still long enough to think about tomorrow.

 Or next year.

Or ten years from now.

 I can't wrap my mind around every birthday he won't have.

 Every holiday he'll miss.

 Every random Tuesday when something funny happens and I reach for my phone before remembering.

 I can survive him being away.

 I cannot survive him never coming back.

 So my mind bargains.

 It builds stories.

 It creates places for him to be.

 Because as long as he's somewhere, there's still a road between us.

 There's still a chance.

 There's still a someday.

 And maybe that's what grief really is.

Not forgetting the truth.

 Not denying the truth.

 Just loving someone so much that your heart keeps trying to find a version of the story where they make it home.

 A version where the headlights pull into the driveway.

A version where the phone rings.

A version where the waiting finally ends.

A version where your child comes back.

 And for a few moments at a time, that's the story I tell myself.

 Because it's the only one I can breathe inside of.