I Choose You

"You're all I know, I can't let you go."

Mariah Carey

You died exactly two years ago today.

In your short time on this planet you got to be a teacher, an EMT, and a firefighter. You got to bet on football games with your brother in Las Vegas, bond with your firefighter buddies in New Orleans, and drive your fancy Highlander (blasting your horrible music) all over the northside of Chicago. You got to see a lot of your dreams come true and for that I am eternally grateful but I wish with all of my heart that you'd been given more than seven years to be a dad. Amira is nine now. And she's a force to be reckoned with. A couple of weeks ago, in a misguided attempt to clown her, one of her classmates looked at Amira and said, "What's the matter with your face?" Without missing a beat (or giving a fuck) Amira looked at him and shouted, "What's the matter with YOUR LIFE!?" to the amusement and laughter of her fellow 3rd graders.

That is YOUR CHILD, Lorenzo.

She's into Selena Gomez and Taylor Swift, dancing and musical theater. She plans to one day become a singer, actress, dancer or SLIME ENTREPRENEUR. I hope that you can still see her. I hope that, somehow, you still get to watch her grow up. You'd be so proud of the ass kicking, talented, HILARIOUS young woman your daughter is growing up to be.  

You died exactly two years ago today and while I've forgotten a lot from July 5th, 2016, I still remember certain moments from that day as clearly as if they'd only just occured. Your voice on the phone that morning, telling me you loved me for what would turn out to be the very last time. Amira and I heading out to Whole Foods to get you the vegan protein shakes you'd finally agreed to drink. The phone call from your mother asking us to come home, telling me that you'd had a seizure and that we needed to get to the rehab facility right away. The rushed Uber ride to Des Plaines, the prayers I repeated to myself over and over again. And then...the head nurse or doctor or whoever the fuck she was, meeting us at the lobby elevator to tell us you were already gone. 

But I don't dwell on that day. Not anymore. Instead, I choose to remember you for who you were before July 5th, 2016, before a drunk driver whose name I've purposely forgotten, took you away from us forever. 

I choose to remember the Lorenzo who wore a suit to our impromptu superbowl party, because he wanted to be as sharp as Ray Lewis. I choose to remember the Lorenzo who sang "Commas After My Commas" with his daughter at the top of his lungs. I choose to remember the Lorenzo who slept with his arms around me every, single, night that we were together. I choose to remember the Lorenzo who did squats in his hospital room a mere week and a half after the accident.

I choose to remember the man you've always been. And no accident on this Earth, no drunk driver, no shitty rehab facility can EVER take those memories away from me.