| � Perfect � "It's a boy, a baby boy." As I heard the news I was elated. I couldn't believe it. It was a boy! A boy. My boy! I couldn't believe it. I was euphoric. As I grinned wildly, I thought of what he would say when he heard this. Oh, the things we could do to go celebrate. We could go out for a coffee, maybe to dinner or maybe somewhere fun like the amusement park. Gosh, we hadn't been to one in ages. The last time we were there was� back when we were in our early teens, when I was 13 and he, 16. I couldn't wait to share the news. I just couldn't. Yet, as I settled down, I realized something as a tear drop fell. Not a few, but one. One lone teardrop. He was gone. He had been gone for almost a month now but it didn't seem real. You'll be alright, Jas. Just hang in there, I know you can do it, he had told me. And I did. But what did it matter now that I didn't have him to share it with? No one had ever been so special, no one came close. No one. They say that you never know how much someone means to you until they're gone, until you can't get them back. I never knew how really extraordinary, how really one of a kind he was, until that day when he broke the news. He had told me to stay away, to remember him that way, the one who had that dazzling smile, the one who never failed to make me laugh, the one who never failed to be there for me, to inspire me, to lend a helping hand, or even a shoulder to cry on, to be there for me, whether rain or shine, night or day, whether he was halfway around the world or not. He had been there for me forever. Reminiscing, I thought of the way he had reacted when I broke down, after I knew the dreadful news. I was pregnant. I didn't know what to do. To keep or not to keep. He didn't shun me, or call me hurtful names as so many others had done, but instead, he told me to sit down and cry. He didn't just watch me cry and pat my back, and use words to sooth me, but he cried WITH me. He took some of my pain and he chose to help me bear it. He took away some of my responsibility, my agony, my grief. He had helped, even though he didn't have to. He was a popstar, for goodness sake. Why did he do that? Why did he choose to help me, to worry for me, to worry with me? I always knew I would be forever in his debt and that he was truly exceptional, truly amazing, that no one could ever take his place and I often wondered what I would do without him. But I didn't know I would be able to find out so soon, that he would be taken away from me so fast, as selfish as it sounded. We always had a strange relationship, him and I. One that no one could understand. He was like a brother, yet not. I think we always knew the truth, deep in our hearts, but we never admitted it. I wish we did. Then, at least we would have known how it would have turned out. So what if it may not have turned out the way we wanted to? At least we would have gotten a chance, a chance to give it a shot. But no. We didn't. He had been the one to give me my first kiss, to be there when I went through my first heartbreak, to be my first real love. We had never really gotten together, just become friends and though we felt more for one another, we still dated other people. Now and then I would feel a pang of jealousy when I saw him with a girl and I knew he felt invidious when he saw me with a boy, but we never really got together with anyone. I guess we always knew the truth, just didn't want to face it. Foolish, as I look back, but what was done was done. He feared commitment, I feared for our friendship, and though whatever happened we would pull though, I wasn't sure if I could risk it, that one chance that I might lose him. If I had known, I would have made the right choice. But I didn't know. Then the dreadful news came. He was sick, he said. I closed my eyes. I knew it was serious but didn't want it to be. It was a dream. A horrible dream. I took a breath and braced myself. "I� I have cancer, Jas, Cancer. Can you believe it?" He had asked, sadness in his eyes, torture. I gulped. "How long left?" "Depends. They say 3 weeks. At the most." I could remember it so clearly, the way his head dipped down, his eyes never leaving the floor, afraid that if he looked up, he would see me cry and start himself. I held back the tears I knew he didn't want to see them. I knew it would only cause him more suffering to see me cry, in would only hurt him more. I had to be strong. For him. I had pulled him in a hug, in a tight embrace, knowing it would be one of the last hugs I would get from him. I never wanted to let go. I wanted him to be with me forever, to protect me, to be there for me to hold, to comfort, to love, just like he had done just weeks before. But I couldn't. I knew he wouldn't let me. He wouldn't let me be there for him because he knew I would hurt and that I would see him in pain. He was as stubborn as a mule. He would never want me to remember him sick, frail, half dead- literally. We had spent the next week together, until we knew he wouldn't be able to do the things he loved- singing, dancing, making people smile, laugh, be the entertainer he always was. Everywhere, newspapers tried to catch a glimpse of him, thousands of fans crying on his behalf, praying for a miracle. But none worked. Only his buddies got to see him though. I knew he left me out because I was special, that he didn't want to cause more grief, more pain but that only made me ache more. I never got to see him off, never got to say a proper goodbye to him when he was alive. All I could catch was a photo of him at his funeral, his request to close the coffin. All around the world, fans wept and grieved for him but it wasn't the same. I couldn't let go of my pain, not when I still had my baby to look after, to be strong for. As I wiped the tear away, I took another look at the child. I didn't know if there was such a thing as reincarnation, but in my arms laid a special child, one that bore a striking resemblance to him, even though he didn't possess the genes, the chromosomes. My brother, my friend, the love I always knew, the love I would never have. Justin. My heart thudded and I knew I would not have to worry about what to name the child. He already had a given name, one I would never trade for the world. Justin. I couldn't help it. I broke down and cried, rocking the child gently in my arms. Then, he did something that I thought was impossible. He squeezed my hand. I wasn't sure if babies could do that, but that small action had given me the strength and the will to carry on, whether he knew it or not. What he had done was given me a sign, something to remind me of him, the way he squeezed my hand, spreading warmth and comfort though me. It truly was Justin, my rock, my pillar, my strength. I knew what I would tell my son when he was older. I would tell him about everything I knew about Justin Timberlake, things that money could not buy, things he would never find in books and magazines. Memories of times spent with that one special person in my life, photos and videos. And I would make sure that he would be Justin, like Justin. Someone special, someone one of a kind, someone irreplaceable, someone Perfect. ��� (2 years later ) Looking at my life now, I know it's true. Even though that someone special had been taken away from me, I got someone equally important to help me through. Every time I see Little Justin, I am amazed at his similarity to Justin. He not only looks alike, with his light brown, messy curly-ish hair, his huge blue eyes that always sparkled, his enchanting smile that was so captivating, but also the way he behaved. The way he smiles, the way he makes me laugh with his funny actions and the way he knows exactly when I'm feeling sad, the way he always holds my hand when he knows I'm not happy, the way he purposely gives me that special, irresistible charming grin when I feel like scolding him, which makes all my anger disappear and want to hug him. Sometimes, when I look up at the stars, I wonder if somewhere, out there, up above, Justin is there, looking after us, watching over us. I will always remember what he told me, that he would always protect me and the baby, whether on earth or somewhere else. As long as I think of that, I know for a fact I'm fine. He always knew what to say to make everything better, brighter somehow. Even when he wasn't alive. Not physically, anyway. It's Justin's 2 year death anniversary today. I bring little Justin to Justin's grave and little Justin knows this is someone special, someone I love. He runs to the tombstone and gives it a hug, touching my heart. Even though he's only two, he seems wiser, more intelligent, so much like Justin. Little Justin takes my hand and pulls me to the tombstone. As I walk nearer, he takes one of my fingers and uses it to trace Justin's name. "Mama, Jwustiiin" he says. I am touched by that. Tears fall, but this time, it's tears, not a tear. I know now, that wherever I am, I am never alone. . But what did it matter now that I didn't have him to share it with, my heart remembers. To answer my own question, I realize I still had the world to share it with, and even though he wasn't with my in body, he was, and always would be, in my heart. And that is enough to get me through. That is enough to make me hang in there. For me, for Little Justin, and last but not least, My Justin. And that's the way it'll always be. ��� |
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