Dear Jordan

I found three strands of gray hair today. I’m sure there is more but for the sake of self-preservation I decided not to investigate further. That means it’s probably time to check in.

I’ve been neglecting my grief by choosing to focus on logistical matters to occupy my time instead. I’m an Olympic sprinter in the sport of outrunning negative emotions and experiences. Suppressing feelings provides a sense of control in times where I feel there is none. “What are things you feel you can control?” This question left me awestruck and a little hopeless when I struggled to find an answer.

Nothing feels within reach any more. The plans for the future, our future, are no more. There was no plan B. The amount of flexibility this nine months without you has required is not sustainable. At least not for me. Adjusting expectations, sometimes in a matter of hours, is exhausting. So much so, that it’s difficult to remain optimistic when it’s two steps forward and five steps back with every new stressor. I came across quote on Ugly Grief’s Instagram page that perfectly describes this stage in my life. It reads,

“My bandwidth for handling stress, is that of a fainting goat.”

This provides the perfect visual. Hilarious yet completely accurate. Even the smallest amount of stress can send me into a frenzy. I have no patience and disappointment seems to lurk around every corner. I’d like to think I wasn’t always so dramatic, but move over Moira Rose I’m coming for the crown. I only wish you were here to roll your eyes at me. I think snarky comments was our shared love language and I miss it so much.

Written in June 2021 and rediscovered 9/7/2022 – just one day before the two-year anniversary of your death.

The original post still resonates with so much of how I feel today, especially in times of stress or significant change. Except now I understand I will survive the second year without you. Just barely. I was warned it would be more difficult than year one and scoffed at the idea of how that could be possible. Well, I was wrong. I can envision the smirk on your face hearing me admit this. There have been many moments of unrelenting sadness and despair. Many joyful moments too. I swear it’s not all so bleak. I often picture a large storm cloud hovering over me as I attempt to establish some normalcy in a life I no longer recognize.

To be completely transparent, I often want to quit. Pack up leave everything behind (of course Delia can come… who else will replenish her Veggie Straw supply if I’m gone?) and create a new life that doesn’t feel so heavy. In these times, my left brain wakes up from its long-term hibernation and reminds me that running away doesn’t guarantee an easier life. So we press on, with hyperbole in a supporting role, because life is wonderful and simultaneously awful but still worth living. I will always want you here, physically not spiritually, because it is nowhere near the same but I promise to keep going. No matter what. However, there are no guarantees I’ll tone down my flair for the dramatic.