17

Sam left for her 2nd year of college today.

Oof.

I don’t know why the 2nd year seems harder.

The last week has been difficult. She’s been in a mood. Off and on but mostly on.

She came into my office yesterday. I paused my movie I was multi-tasking with and swung my chair around and then she hopped up and sat down on my lap. She leaned back and I snugged my arms around her and squeezed. We talked. It will stay in my memory.

It’s scary going into something new – new roomies, unknown situations – but also the excitement of knowing it’s exactly where she wants to be. I’ve been loving seeing her clean and pack up her room.

Loving… hating.

Something.

Today is 3 months to the day that John died.

That feels… very far away.

Heavy in some ways.

Sam and I got some good time in this summer.

I’m slowly thinking about what I want to say when I get up to speak at his memorial that’s coming up. I’m working on lines.

August 17.

But I am sad.

So sad. And I am so so very sorry.

So sorry.

It hurts to breathe when I think about it.

“Forgive me, for all the things I did but mostly for the ones that I did not.”
— Donna Tartt

62…

Micchami Dukkadam: please forgive me for any harm I may have caused you knowingly or unknowingly, and I forgive you for the same

Grief hitting hard.

Repercussions. For you.

Some guilt. For me.

Horrified empathy.

Agonizing pain.

Off and on. But still so hard.

It haunts me to think about what happened on a Friday afternoon at 5:38. I felt sick. I wanted to throw up. But I get it. I know. I’ve told myself so many stories to try to make it be okay in my head. It is okay but it hurts so much.

And rather than I told you so, it’s thank you for teaching me to trust my instincts more. I knew what I needed but I wasn’t able to do it. I still had hope.

I still have hope which sometimes seems unfortunate.

Less pain now. More acceptance.

I think.

I guess it depends on the hour.

More control over my own situation and thoughts. How I continue to replay this story and reframe it to work for me.

I’m proud of you. I’m assuming you are proud of me.

The silly internet memes randomly hit me hard though.

“If you had 24 hours left on this planet, who would you call first?”

And here I am just waiting for the day when your name stops popping up first for me.

“What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time”

My french lessons want to stab me in the eye.

*
There are days when I get to put a bright shiny star next to the date and pat myself on the back that I adulted.

My notes app is long, disjointed, and confusing.

I have so many lines in my speech written out that seem trite and silly. But I know I will figure it out when the time comes.

I have the speech mostly written. But do I want to match it up to photos of John’s life? I probably do. I do need to email the marketing guy and make sure that if posters are created, I NEED my kids to be represented. They were a part of his life and I want them to feel included.

In a few days, I still have to get through the drive down to San Diego with a packed car. It will be lovely to meet the new roomies.

But it’s sad.

And still hard.

Some seasons don’t separate their joys and griefs. They braid them together.

I’m sorry. So sorry.