Dear Lorenzo:
It's Saturday evening, 5:40 p.m., and I'm upstairs, writing you from Aisha's computer because for some reason my tablet isn't pairing with my keyboard and I can't figure out what's going on. In any case...
I'm still here.
This year, it was Thanksgiving that did me in.
The day started off wonderfully.
The entire family went to Sheree's house for dinner. She'd been cooking for days on end and had enough food to feed a proverbial army but we each contributed a dish or two of our own. I brought a big salad and the vegan wellington from the Chicago Diner. Asia brought her sweet potato casserole, Heidi brought a roast and your mom brought potato salad. There was mac and cheese, dressing, sweet potato pies, you name it, Sheree served it, and I threw down.
And then...
I fell down.
Little D, Dwight and I were watching the game in the living room when it hit me.
This was it. This was my new normal. You would never again come upstairs from the basement to talk football with your brother. We would never again watch another Superbowl together. I had no one to talk to about all that I'd learned from Lou Riddick or Trey Wingo or anyone else on ESPN.
I left the party early and took a Lyft back home.
Alone.
It was days before I could get myself back up again.
I stayed in bed that entire long weekend, rousing myself only on the rare occurrences when Amira was with me instead of upstairs with your mom. I buried myself amongst my comforters, the way I did for the entire first year following your death.
And then...
I woke up.
I'm not exactly sure what happened but...
Lorenzo, I'm so tired of being depressed.
I'm so tired of spending more time thinking about our life together than focusing on any future I could possibly have without you.
I need to have hope again.
I need to believe that I can truly be happy again.
I need to show Amira that there can be life for us even after your death and that it's okay for us to move on.
That moving forward doesn't mean forgetting all that you meant to us, and it certainly doesn't mean not loving you anymore.
I will always, ALWAYS love you, Lorenzo.
You will ALWAYS be Amira's Daddy.
You are irreplaceable, now and forever, but I am finally giving myself permission to let you go.
Not the love, not the lessons, not the memories, but the dream of our getting to grow old together.
I'm ready to let that go.
And in my heart, I know that's what you'd want.
