How can you be gone right now?
I’ve been trying to say this for months now.
I even wrote two other blog posts, both felt wrong so I just left them unfinished.
Anyway, here are all the things I wish I had said:
It’s be two months. To this day, it’s been two months.
I can’t stand how I’ve been keeping track.
Mom’s broken now. I see it when I look at her, everyday. It’s like the part of her that is yours just snapped in half and the two halves just float there inside of her and she’s trying to understand where they went so she can fix them. But, how do you fix what you can’t find? And, how do you find what your senses can’t perceive? So she’s just here now, unsure how to function, endlessly trying and exhausting herself trying to fix these two halves she can’t find and doesn’t have tools to repair. She’ll probably be mad when she reads this, or, she’ll cry and say « I’m not broken Anna, I’m okay, really. » Then she’ll hug me and I’ll squeeze her tighter because she needs that more now. What I want to say is « It’s okay to be broken Mom, we’re all broken because Dad’s just that good of a human. » You are so good that you left this broken piece that reminds us to be good. Don’t worry though, Luke’s taking care of her. It’s because I can’t. It’s because when grandpa was in the hospital I promised him I’d take care of grandma and then grandpa died and then grandma died and in the end I hadn’t actually been able to take care of anyone and it felt like I’d made this huge lie to grandpa. And grandpa was my #1.
I think that’s why there’s been no service because we just can’t do it. We can’t admit any of it. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to. Which is fine with me, I don’t think I wanted a service in the first place and I really don’t think you would have cared. You hate fanfare. Remember that time you got up and marched out of an Ecupoco on your birthday because grandma set a birthday present before you and had the waiters sing. Everyone was smiling and clapping and you just stood right up, visibly seething, and walked straight out of the restaurant. But I do remember that after that day we always had birthday cake for you at home and it was always German Chocolate because that’s your favorite. One time, I made it for you from scratch and I was so worried about the frosting being perfect that I gave the first batch to the dog. I made Buddy promise not to tell because we weren’t a house that liked to waste food.
I think when I work late Luke and mom purposefully stay up to wait for me because that’s your job. You’d just always be there waiting in you chair watching the news like you were praying there’d be a change. Like you were hoping the more you watched the less you’d see people dying and violence happening. And I’d come through the front door and you’d smile at me and ask me how work was. I never said enough. I think back now on how your voice sounded and I wish I’d said more, said anything just so that you’d say words. And I don’t really care how what the conversation would be about, I just really want to hear your voice because I feel like I’m forgetting how it used to sound. Isn’t that crazy? We lived together for 24 years in the same house and spoke everyday and now I can’t remember how your voice sounds or what the last thing we said to each other was.
Luke told said the other day « Anna’s afraid of guys. » And, Dad, he’s right. He’s so right. Did you notice that? I feel like you were noticing everything and I just didn’t realIe it because you trusted that if I wanted to talk about it with you I would. Maybe I’m romantizing the past already, I don’t know. But, I do know that I think I’m afriad of guys because that means I have to give someone to them, a part of me. With friendships that happened naturally, I gave parts of my souls to Kil
and Megan when I realized we’d always be best friends without even realizing I was doing it. It’s different with guys I think because of you and mom. Your love story is so epic. You two just knew from one touch, one look, one shared warm feeling. You both knew. I wish I spent more time talking about that night in the bar with you because whenever you brought it up you’re eyes would shine and it was like you were reliving it all over again. You said God spoke to you, that he showed you, mom was the girl you were to marry and hen you did, you married her. How do I live up to that? How do I know? What if it’s not the same for me? What if I trust this guy and he breaks my heart because he will. One day he’ll die and he’ll break the part of me that’s broken in mom, that was broken in grandma. I just don’t know how to do that. To love another person so much that when they leave a part of you goes with them. I already love too many people too much. Or, what if I’m wrong about the guy I think is the one? What if I make a mistake and you aren’t here to weigh his heart for me against yours?
Its not fair. You not being here, is not fair. I don’t like it and I don’t approve. So, come back.
Well that’s it for now, I told myself I’d do this, I’d write until I couldn’t see from the tears and then I’d stop and cry and start again when I wasn’t crying. Because it’s hard to see when you cry, then your nose runs when you’re eyes start to clear and it’s hard to breathe. And after that, well, everything falls apart.
I can't remember the last thing I said to you but I remember our last hug. It was father's day, in our kitchen and you'd said "You don't know how good that felt". I wish I had savored it more. I wish I savored everything more.