2 years. How is it that 2 years have passed since I’ve seen you, heard you, hugged you, or touched you? How can 2 years have passed since your deep belly laughed sounded in our house or I buried my head in your chest for a soul restoring hug? How could 2 springs, 2 summers, 2 falls and 2 winters have all passed without you? Christmases, birthdays, halloweens, summer vacations, first days of school….all without you. How can the world continue to turn when everything in our world has fallen apart?
730 days. 730 days since you last were on this earth with me, with us. 730 days since you made that terrible choice. 730 days since you died alone, suffocated by your shame and your pain. 730 days since we fought and you left and I never got to see you again. 730 days in which I’ve racked my brain to remember if I said I love you in what I didn’t know would be our last goodbye. I don’t know if I did. I don’t think I did. 730 days of wishing I had. 730 days without you. Like a magician’s trick, you simply left this earth in a puff a smoke. Poof. You were here and just like that, you were gone. It simply makes no sense and it is just so unfair that this is how your life ended, and how ours continue on.
I won’t lie to you (you know I never would) and tell you we are doing okay, and that life moves on, and that we feel you with us every day. That’s the story of grief that the world wants us to tell. I won’t tell you that lie. I won’t lie and tell you we are getting over this and that we are stronger now. I won’t lie and tell you I’ve forgiven you for all the trauma your addiction has caused me. No. The truth is we are doing okay and we are a fucking mess. Life moves on and it stands still. We feel you with us sometimes and other times I’m paralyzed with fear that we are forgetting you. Every day we talk about you, every day we laugh at your silliness and your random eccentricities. Every day, my anger at you bubbles over. Every day I yell at you and your selfishness and your illness that caused my world to crumble. I understand your disease and yet I am still so angry at what you have done. I love you and I hate you. I exist now in a world that it is bittersweet and filled with complicated dualities.
17 520 hours. 17 520 hours in which so much stuff has happened. Rob Ford died. His crack video came out and we call go to see it. Mind blowing. And it’s even more mind blowing that you missed it. Brooklyn can speak french and ride a bike now. I know you two would be having secret conversations in French. Her bike you bought her is too small now but I don’t know anything about bikes so I have procrastinated getting her a new one. She won’t talk to me about you, and yet has been crying at school saying she misses you. I am trying to help her but I don’t know if I’m enough. Piper can swim and is starting kindergarten in a few weeks. That day before you died, I still remember that you finally got her to get in the lake with you, holding her in your arms. She now jumps in with reckless abandon and can float on her own. She hugs and kisses the grass by your grave whenever we go see you now. She’s been alive now longer without you than with you and that breaks my heart. I now have two tattoos, one of which is your fingerprint. They weren’t that painful but I do not know how you handled your huge back piece or your chest piece. I wish I had photos of your tattoos, but they are frozen in my mind as I remember tracing my fingers over them. I’m a writer now. My blog got the attention of CBC radio and I was on Metro morning interviewed by Matt Galloway. Holy shit eh?!! I told the entire listening audience (just a mere 2 million people or so) about your silly dance and your heroin addiction. Sorry about that. Doug Ford is premier of Ontario. I told you my world makes no sense since you died! I’ve been writing angry letters to our city councillor and our MPP as well as getting lawn signs for the candidates I support. You’d be proud of the work I’m doing trying to make the world an okay place for our kids. I have a boyfriend. He’s not like you and he is very much like you all in one. He loves the girls and honours you with them. He is a safe place for my grief and a safe place for my love. He is completely okay with the fact his girlfriend is in love with two men. Your brother had a baby. I told your brother how much you loved being the dad of girls and how much you would have loved talking baby girl stuff with him. The fucking Eagles won the Superbowl. I wore your jersey and bawled my eyes out during the game. I thought about our trip to San Francisco when we watched the Eagles play and we ate those amazing garlic fries. Don’t worry, the Eagles license plate cover is still on the car. Brooklyn wants me to take it off but she’s not in charge around here, I am. So it stays. Something major happened in the Leafs but you aren’t alive therefore my sports knowledge is drastically less so I’m not exactly certain what it is. 2 years worth of stuff has happened and you don’t know any of it. That blows my mind. I desperately want to tell you, to share all this stuff with you. 2 years ago you knew everything about me, about my life and all the beautiful, boring daily minutiae of it. And now 2 years later, you know nothing. Or do you know it all? I’ll never know.
I want to talk to you. I want to tell you what hell I’ve been through. I want to scream at you and tell you how hard life is, being a single mom, working, parenting, grieving, moving on and standing still. I want to show you the beautiful me that is emerging because of this journey. I want you to see how it’s making me a different person, a better person, a stronger person. I want you to be proud of me. Most of all I just want you. I want you to hug me and tell me it’s going to be okay, that I’m going to be okay. I want to hug you and tell you I miss you and I love you. But just like the 729 days before today, I can’t. And just like the 729 days before today, I will think those things, and hope like hell that wherever you are, wherever you may be, you can hear me.