Twice.

I have only seen Jacob cry twice.
It seems so imbalanced; he's seen me cry dozens of times.

The first time I remember seeing him cry was last May, when we made the heart-wrenching decision to take Brat, our cat, into the vet to have her put down. I have never, in my life, seen a man cry as hard or as long as he did that night.

The last time I remember seeing him cry was last Thursday, when he left me standing on my grandma's porch to drive to Denver, where he will remain until I join him in May.

I am only reminded of this because I just finished bawling.
It wasn't one of those good, soul-cleansing cries, either.
It was a headache-inducing cry from grief.
I just finished watching this video, one I have seen before. It might be hitting me a little harder because I'm (temporarily) living in my parents' house again, where Brat spent all of her life, but Brat is not here. I have no 7am snuggle buddy sneaking into my bed, like I did thirteen months ago. I have no beautiful calico caterwauling in the hallway because she has a ball and wants to play and she doesn't care that it's 3am.

I cry at movies all the time. We cannot watch "Up" or "P.S. I Love You" without tears falling at predictable intervals.
I cry sometimes without him knowing, just because I don't want him knowing.
...this one is different. I don't think I have cried out of grief in the five and a half years that we've been together, without having his hug to comfort me.

I know, I know: Denver was (initially) my idea.
And I'm not an idiot: I knew that this would be hard, living far apart after living together.

This is just one of those things that I'm going to have to re-learn how to do, and then re-unlearn.