The sea is rough today, and it feels fitting. There’s an hour left of sun. I came home from Florida, and I thought about you. I’ve been aching to think about you.
I’m feeling a bit “better” now. I don’t really know what that word means. But I woke up this morning, and it didn’t hurt to get out of bed. I’m feeling some kind of motivation, I’m almost feeling good. And I miss you. I’m so thankful to remember how to miss you.
I can’t say when it started. I can’t say when the emptiness started to drain. There were still moments, this weekend, when I needed to run away. There are still moments, now, when I look for ways to hide. But I don’t always want to hide.
I watch the waves break on the rocks by the shore. I should spend some time in the water this week. I picture your hair, and somehow I still see you with green eyes. The glass feels heavy and very near.
My therapist asked how I feel about guilt. It will always be a fact that my decisions helped you die. And I think, somedays, that will always overwhelm me. And it doesn’t seem fair. I am still obsessed with fair.
I remember the last time I sat on these rocks. It was the day after your birthday, and my whole life felt so empty. It was the first day I couldn’t cry.
I flew to Orlando this weekend, and nothing felt familiar. I didn’t go to Disney World. I drank a lot of beer. And it wasn’t until I got to the airport that I finally felt you. I felt how much you weren’t there. I felt how much I missed you.
And it feels strange, even now, to find thankfulness in hard memories. It feels strange to be thankful for needing now to cry. And this strange duality, where I am okay, and also heartbroken — it also feels a little strange. And also somehow fine.
I’m feeling motivation again. I walked today. It was a little cold. I am rejoining life, I am finding community. And I think about you. I am so thankful to think about you.
I love you.
