When I took that cruise in August with Alexis*, I was still in the fog. I think I thought it would “solve” everything, somehow. I grasped on everything like solutions.
That first day at sea, I explored the whole boat. It was huge, and also tiny. I was committed for that week. I found an empty section of the deck and sat, reading for a bit, but mostly staring at the waves.
I found peace in the water here in California. It felt freeing. I still love being able to walk to the ocean daily. I also feel as if there’s something missing. I feel missing. I still feel empty.
I’ve spent the past year running from connection. I wanted everyone to go away, or let me run away. I miss those moments now, that time when I felt complete in my grief. Because now I yearn for community, and it’s missing.
I wrote several months back that I understood. People can’t be faulted when I’m the one who’s changed. Understanding doesn’t make it easier. It lately feels as if I’ve lost all my grace.
I try things. I do yoga. I walk. I’ve done therapy for most of the past year. And somehow I’m still stuck. I don’t want to be stuck.
I cry now, almost daily. It really feels like earlier days. I am waiting for a meeting, and the tears come so easily. And I’m thankful, because (like always) I really thought this numbness was a permanent companion. And I’m realizing it may be.
I cry for you. I’m having flashbacks unexpected. I’m reliving your last days, when I was blissfully naive. I also cry for me. I cry for everything I’m missing. And it hurts to realize that’s more than you. It hurts to remember there was more to me.
I just left meeting with the hotel caterer. We finalized the details for your memorial next week. I’m trying to come to peace with how few people are coming. I’m doing this for you. I need that to be what matters to me.
I’m also trying something new today. I’m exploring meditation. Which is funny, because where once I wanted stillness, I’m now terrified to try it. I think I’m scared to really explore what lives inside me. And that’s why I have to.
I stare at the waves from the window in the hotel. I picked the most beautiful place to celebrate your birthday. I am excited for this, excited to share this with you.
You will always be a part of me. I love you.
* Names have been changed to protect privacy.
Adrian’s Story: Adrian’s Memorial (needs to be posted)
Letters to Adrian: Nov 14, 2017, 7:10 PM