Monday, October 10, 2016

One month.

Want to know how many times I changed the title of this post?  Too many.  That's how many times I tried to write to you, but my eyes blurred through tears, or my jaw hurt from clenching my teeth to hold them back - making it an impossible task. 

One month.  It's been one month since you left.  Left us with too many questions, and too few answers.  Left us broken and trying to pick up the pieces and learn to live a life without you in it. 

I've met so many of your friends, and  I hope you know how loved you were.  Your roommates and friends from Serenity are amazing and I wish I had gotten a chance to meet them under better circumstances.   

I know we didn't talk a whole lot over the last few months, but even when your challenges kept us apart I was still there in the shadows cheering you on.  I remember one evening this past winter/early spring when you were at bottom.  You texted me telling me you were giving up because there was no hope for you.  You threw out some falsified statistic that 88% of addicts still fail after attempted recovery treatments.  I told you that you could be the 12%.  That was my new motto for you - to "be the 12%".   The next morning you reached out to Mom for help.  I helped you get enrolled on an insurance plan.  I prayed that this time was the time.

While we know that you are no longer "the 12%", all I can wish for now is 1.

One more day.

One more hug.

One more "Hi Kitty!", or "Hi Sister!" 

One more stupid, annoying gift for Jack, Reese, & Cooper for a birthday or holiday - surely to annoy me for all eternity - or at least until the batteries wore out.

One more chance to tell you how (excuse-my-French) fucking proud I was of you when I finally got to see you up north over Labor Day weekend.  I really was.  And I'm sorry I never told you.    

One more lifetime.

I've heard that others have noticed little signs that you're still with us...a vision, a song, a memory... 

I'm waiting.

"i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)" - e.e. cummings