Last year, on the 19th of June, you told Julia
“I will probably die tonight.”.
You were tragically right
in your wrongness
as you died three days later. I got this message on the 23rd:
“Hello old friend
I am so sorry
I need to make sure you are in the loop and they’re asking about Scott’s family or somebody from his family to contact
please call me
Immediately please
It is 911.”
My first thought was that you had died
But within seconds I pushed that out of my brain.
It was too soon.
You were supposed to have more time to fix things with her.
I have this picture of her on my desk at work
after her 8th grade promotion
the night I received those messages.
She looks gorgeous, because of course.
But also, it’s the last picture of her
before I had to break her heart
(more than it was already broken)
and tell her what happened.
I’ve spent the last year mourning who you were to us
and blaming myself for who you became
Or…
returned to
←- side note, time for an Al-Anon meeting.
I don’t understand how you could have left us.
How you could miss everything that is hers.
Before you got sick (again),
you always believed in me.
You trusted me.
You stood up for us.
You knew that *you*
were more functional *with* us.
It’s weird being functional *without you*.
It feels less powerful and far more punishing.
Your pictures are all over our house now and I hope you forgive me.
Forgive us.
I know you would never wish your path on her.
She’s 15.5 and, if she was following you,
she’d already be in full-blown addiction,
juggling arrests and ineffective groundings and military school.
She seems to have forgotten about our book,
which we both said she’d be allowed to read at 12.
I’m okay with her forgetfulness.
But I also don’t want to hide you from her.
How can it still be so complicated?
My therapist(s) promise me that she will deal with her grief when she needs to.
I’ve been modeling grief for the last year since you died, and the
last seven years since you got sick and left *again*, and the
last twelve years since you went to treatment the first time, and the
last 18 years since I learned what addiction is.
We had to put Jenkins down.
Maybe we could have brought him to the vet
and put him through car rides back and forth,
but you know how he felt when we did that.
He couldn’t understand that we were trying to help him.
Like you?
Why couldn’t you understand that we were just trying to help?
When Obama was elected, you wept.
You hoped for a better world for us.
For her. Your girl.
Your girl?
Our girl?
She’s good. She’s so good.
She’s an artist - which you know she didn’t get from either of us.
She’s kind.
She’s driven.
She’s a loyal friend.
She’s grounded.
She’s unbelievably smart.
And she’s so fucking brave.
You’ve missed her becoming.
Becoming me
but she’s you, too.
She’s my height now,
her hands,
her knees,
her body is mostly mine,
but you’re there, too.
She likes carrots - those vomitous orange impalers that you love.
She has a better sense of direction than I’ve ever had.
She’s got these thick, glorious, eyelashes that just pop
and I know you know what I’m talking about
because you were always told your eyelashes were wasted on you.
She got them.
The other day I was watching her eat nachos,
and she put them in her mouth just like you. She doesn’t remember you eating nachos, so I know this is pure genetics.
Her idea of a wild Friday
is to meet her friends at the library and do their homework.
And I know you’d say she got this from me.
Maybe parts,
but she’s way smarter than I ever was
…or ever will be.
You own all our moments
Can you see us?
Can you see her?
Are you at peace?
Are you tortured?
Where are you?
Do I want to know?
Before you died I was getting rid of all your stuff
and now I hold onto it…
more than I should.
So. Um.
She’s amazing.
Thinking about her makes me burst into tears
because how can I be so lucky to be part of her life?
And…
…how can you be missing it?
