Kinda sorta totally how I feel today.
It’s a Wednesday, just after you fly to where you are going. You say yes, I want to see you, too. You think it’ll be calming to sit on the beach and see him again.
It’s a Thursday, just after he wakes you up. You can’t help but to be passive-aggressive. You spent the last eight months loathing that you can’t have him, and you had him for a minute and he’s quickly slipping through your fingers.
It’s a Friday, just after you see your new home. You think he might like it, too. But then your boyfriend texts you.
It’s a Saturday, and he apologizes for missing your presentation. You say you knew he wouldn’t go anyway.
It’s a Sunday, just before you fly to where you came from. You say yes, you can stop by brunch. But you didn’t expect to hear that he wanted to try to be with you. You just ask if he’s sure, and he just repeats that he is. How do you know what to say?
I’m just one day away from going to Connecticut. I’m scared. I wish you could pep talk me. My first professional presentation, and I get to see where I’ll be living this summer. I really wish you could see this museum and drop me off this summer. Aunt Debbie and mom really just won’t be the same. Justin might get to go, though. I know how excited you got when we did something with him.
I miss you, daddy. I wish I could call you.
#tbt to the week that tested my will to live. Dad died, tonsils necrotized, and life as I knew it changed forever.
So glad to be a part of this amazing family. My sisters are incredibly talented, accomplished, beautiful, and drive. #aot #kappadelta #hbh
I feel really bad sometimes because I always look down on people who try to empathize with me by talking about their loved one who died, but knew they were going to die. Like someone whose parent had cancer.
I think, they had their time to grieve before. They knew things were going to change. Yeah, it sucks that they’re gone, but you had time to prepare your life so that you could move on without them. You had your time to say goodbye, and you knew it was coming.
I didn’t get the luxury of that. I talked to my dad Monday night, and didn’t hear from anyone in my family until Thursday afternoon, and Thursday night I was holding my comatose father’s hand in a ICU room.
You are the knee pads sitting by the door that I can’t seem to part with.
You are the shirts in my dresser that I wash and fold every week.
You are the phone calls I get from your friends.
You are the phone calls I never get from your family.
You are the midnight frozen pizzas, burnt to taste.
You are the guy that grills at the gas station in the summer.
You are the sixteen hour road trips every May.
You are the muscle relaxers and the blood pressure medication.
You are the chocolate milkshakes and the lactaid pills when I’m sad.
You are the clothes I swear I’ll wear again, but can’t because they remind me of you.
You’re the half-written stories over 10am coffee.
You’re the stories of summers past.
You’re the bridges I drive over and the sidewalks I tread.
You’re the trail of dirt from the door to your discarded work boots.
You are the person I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to find.
You are the kneepads I can’t bring myself to get rid of
Because if I get rid of them, I get rid of you.