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Dear Lorenzo,

Right now it's 9:47 p.m. and I'm sitting in bed, watching the Goldbergs and listening to Amira's loud breathing. I've had a pretty great past several weeks. Amira and I went to Boston for spring break, much to the delighted surprise of my mom, aunts and cousins. I saw no one outside of family, choosing to stay in and nap on my mother's couch while Amira made oobleck contendedly. I ate thin crust, Greek-style, cheese laden pizza and scoops of Emack and Bolios's Smoreo ice cream every, single day.

It. Was. HEAVEN.

And now I'm back home in Chicago and...

I'm happy.

I feel better than I have in a long time.

I'm actually ready to be happy again.

I'm not ashamed or scared anymore.

I'm ready.

All Me

"Got everything, I got everything. I cannot complain, I cannot."

- Drake

Dear Lorenzo,

It's 11:53 p.m. and I'm exhausted. I should be asleep right now. I should have already taken the two Tylenol PM I need to ensure I get a decent night's rest but...I need to finish this entry first.

My day typically starts at around 5:15 a.m. and today was no different. I woke up, made breakfast and lunch for Amira, worked out for 40 minutes, showered, dressed, and then spent five minutes LITERALLY dragging Amira's ass out of bed. (If you didn't spit this lazy child out...)

After getting her to school (on time!) I took the train downtown and worked for four hours, before going to the grocery store and then back to Mira's school where I let her play at the park with her friends for an hour. We got home, I washed the dishes and made what I foolishly thought was enough dinner for two nights (it was not; if you didn't spit this greedy child out...) before falling into a deep, coma-like sleep the minute Amira went upstairs with Grandma and Aisha.

I'm exhausted...but in the best possible way.

I like my new routine. I like being so busy that I no longer have time to sit on my couch during the day, watching ESPN and crying. I like having to multitask; crocking beans while washing the dishes, doing the laundry while scheduling doctor's appointments. Now that I'm working there's never a dull moment in this house and I'm loving our new routine.

And though I often get lonely, I'm starting to remember all the things I've always loved about being single. I haven't seen one sci-fi flick since you've been gone and God knows I do not miss them. I don't have to compromise about where and when I go on vacation. No more arguing about what to watch first, Empire or Game of Thrones (I no longer watch either show). No more complaining about how much soap I use in the shower, how much money I "waste" on Christmas gifts, or why I insist on wearing my faded, mismatched pajamas. (Because they're comfortable, DAMN IT!) While I miss you with all of my heart, Lorenzo, I do NOT miss your constant stream of criticism any more than you miss any of my annoying characteristics. And that's ok.

I like being in control of my own life again. I like the new life I'm creating for myself. It may not seem like much but...it's all mine.

Thank You, Next

Dear Lorenzo,

So...

What's next?

The way I see it, there are really only two choices.

I can continue to sit on my ass, eating potato chips, watching The Goldbergs and allowing life to pass me by or...

I CAN CHOOSE TO DO ANYTHING ELSE.

Literally, anything else.

I choose B.

I choose getting off the couch and living again.

I choose NOT letting my depression ruin one more minute of my precious, God-given life.

I choose NOT allowing that drunk driver to have anymore power over me.

I choose to live again.

So...

First things first.

I've rejoined Weight Watchers and am ready to lose this damn weight once and for all.

I'm an emotional eater so it makes sense that I would gain so much weight after you died but...I think there's more to this story than just "I sat on my ass for three years and ate to feel better".

I think this was more than just eating for comfort.

I think that on some fucked up, subconscious level, I purposefully gained weight to avoid being SEEN.

I think that...I didn't want to attract any male attention so...

I got fat.

But...there's got to be a less neurotic way to mourn and frankly, I'm ready to FACE my sadness instead of just attempting to eat it all away.

So...

I will talk about it, write about it, or sing about it from the fucking rooftop if I have to but I will not eat about my sadness anymore.

Step one is facing the pain and losing the weight.

And that's more than enough for right now.

Confessions

"If I'm gonna tell it then I gotta tell it all"

- Usher

Dear Lorenzo,

It's Friday, 8:59 p.m. and I'm home, watching The Goldbergs, while Amira sleeps peacefully beside me. The fact that she's fallen asleep before 9 p.m. on a weekend is a BAD sign. Earlier this evening she was complaining that both her throat and stomach hurt so I PRAY this child is not getting sick. Especially since I just spent money I DO NOT HAVE to take her and five of her closest friends to Sky High Trampoline Park tomorrow to celebrate her tenth birthday.

Lorenzo, our daughter is ten years old.

Gone is our squeaky-voiced baby girl; Amira is now an overly-emotional, pre-pubescent nightmare of a ten year old.

God help me.

But I will never forget the day we brought her home from the hospital. We laid our precious angel on the bed between us, thanked God for gifting us this treasure, took one look at each other and began to cry. We were so happy in that moment. We were a family; our lives were finally complete.

I wish it had really been that simple.

Somehow, our happily ever after didn't quite turn out the way we'd planned. We fought...a lot. The first year of Amira's life was brutal for you and I. I was going through some serious postpartum depression and you were left wondering what the fuck had happened to the girl you fell in love with. I don't think we ever fully recovered from that year. We loved each other, of course, but...in my heart, I know I didn't make you as happy as I could have, as you deserved to be. I was so wrapped up in being Amira's mother that on many, MANY an occassion, I forgot to be your woman.

I'm sorry, Babe.

I know you knew how much I loved you, but I wish to God I'd done a better job of showing it. I wish we'd done a better job of prioritizing US and spent more time alone together as a couple, instead of just Amira's parents. In the end, I don't know how happy you were with me and that breaks my fucking heart because I really did love you, even when I didn't show it, even when I was an asshole, or you were...you were still the love of my life. I miss you, Lorenzo. I wish I didn't have to remind myself EVERY FUCKING DAY that you're gone, that you're never coming back and that I have to move on with my life. You were right, life feels pretty fucking empty without a partner to share it with. I wish we could have another chance at this thing, I wish I didn't have to start all over again at 44 years old. I wish my life could be bigger than just parenting, working part-time and watching repeats of The Goldbergs to pass the time. I wish I weren't so fucking lonely all the time.

I wish I could figure out just what the hell I'm supposed to do with myself now.

Bear With Me

Dear Lorenzo,

It's 11:08 p.m. and I feel like shit.

I'm not supposed to be writing you right now, I'm supposed to be reading.

For the most part, all of my days start in the exact same manner. I wake up, work out, shower, get breakfast and lunch together for Amira, and then wash the dishes and eat my breakfast while reading ten pages of a good book.

The ten pages was not my idea but that of Jeff Olsen, personal development guru and author of the most influential book I've ever read in my life: The Slight Edge. The book is all about making us happier, healthier, and more fulfilled human beings. I've read it at least ten times already, but I read it over and over and over and over again because I want this, its core message, to become a fundamental part of who I am: In order to live my life to the fullest, I have to work at my goals every, single day.

That being said, usually, by the time I've left the house in the morning, I've already accomplished a great deal on my daily to do list but today was different. I slept late and so I missed my morning workout. Missed my almost leisurely breakfast at home, and missed out on reading my mandatory ten pages of the day. Because of this, as soon as I got home from work, I did the dishes while talking to Mira about her day, cooked dinner, worked out, washed my hair and didn't sit down to read until a few minutes ago.

Having only gotten about halfway through my current chapter, I should still be reading right now but...I'm having trouble concentrating.

As you know, Danielle got me another job at Typenex. This time, I work with her in the office and I absolutely love it. I love having a reason to get up in the morning that isn't entirely Amira related. I love making my own money again. I love feeling like I'm a part of a team. But the thing I love most is my morning commute. I love riding the train into downtown Chicago every weekday. I love writing in my journal, people watching, and listening to 90's r&b for an uninterrupted 40 minutes at a time. But a few mornings ago, while listening to 112 and drifting off to the music, I felt someone watching me. Disturbed, I quickly opened my eyes, and saw the offending party. It was a man of course, and he was...FIIIINNNNEEEEEE.

I looked away from him quickly. I took out my book and pretended to read. I didn't dare look back in his direction and was relieved to get the fuck off the train because, again...he was FIIIINNNNEEEEE.

For the first time since you've been gone, I was...affected by another man. A man who isn't you. And though I didn't feel guilty about it, I did feel...scared.

And alive again.

Lorenzo, I don't want to date anyone right now. I'm JUST getting back on my feet again. I'm JUST starting to spend more time feeling good than bad but...the way I felt when you first died, the emptiness, the refusal to even look in another man's direction...that's starting to fade. Maybe I won't want to be alone for the rest of my life. Maybe, one day, I will want to be loved again.

I know you aren't mad at me for this. I know you love me and want me to be happy. I want me to be happy too. Maybe that will involve having another man in my life one day, or maybe it won't but...at least I'm ALMOST open to the opportunity.

And I truly believe that this doesn't make me a bad person.