Treading Water

Dear Lorenzo,

It's 11:26 p.m. and like most nights, insomnia has rendered me sleepless so right now I'm up, half-heartedly watching The Goldbergs (you would've liked it) and waiting for the melatonin to kick in.

Nighttime is still hard. Brutally fucking hard. I don't usually get lonely until night falls.

Normally I'm too busy to be lonely. And even if I'm not busy, I find ways to occupy my time, to fake having a life, to ignore the nagging emptiness that sometimes threatens to pull me under. But at nighttime, when Amira's asleep, before the melatonin or Tylenol PM knocks me out...it's hard to pretend I'm not alone.

But, two years, three months, and five days since you've been gone, I'm beginning to see light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Today was a rainy, dreary Wednesday and since Samaiya called me this morning and offered to take Amira to school, I had absolutely no reason to leave the house. Two years ago, I would have put on ESPN, curled up on the futon, and not gotten up again until it was time to pick up Amira and take her to theater but today...

Today, I got off of my ass and got to work.

I washed and twisted my hair, cleaned my house, warmed up on the trampoline for two minutes before working out on the elliptical for 45. I had a big salad for lunch and an apple for a snack. I didn't curl up in a ball and pretend the world didn't exist until my alarm went off at 2:00 p.m. I didn't eat my weight in potato chips or have a glass of wine (or two or three) with dinner in an effort to forget.

I didn't let depression win on a rainy, dreary Wednesday.

I didn't let depression pull me under.

Going With My Gut

Dear Lorenzo,

In my quest to return to the land of the gainfully employed, I've spent the past few months registering with various temp agencies. I'd wake up, get the kid off to school, shower, get dressed in the one and only work appropriate outfit I still own, and then haul ass to whatever downtown temp agency was on the schedule for that day.  Meeting recruiter after recruiter, and attempting to explain to them why they should hire me after my ten year hiatus from the work place was fucking exhausting. So you can probably imagine my relief when Danielle said she might have a job for me. After giving her my resume I first had a phone interview and then an in person interview with her boss. And today, exactly one week after that two-hour, six-person group interview I FINALLY received an email back from the hiring manager.

I didn't get the job.

I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I am.

Don't get me wrong, had I gotten the job I would have made the best of it. I would have loved working with Danielle. I would have loved taking the train into work with Heidi after we dropped the kids off at school. I would have loved having a legitimate reason to go downtown every day. I would have loved the money, the benefits, the security. Being able to help your mom out financially. Being able to pay for whatever we need without worrying as much as I do. I would have loved feeling useful again.

But...

I wouldn't have loved the panic I'd feel calling out from work every time Amira's asthma flared up. I wouldn't have loved scrambling to find someone not only willing to pick her up from school every day, but also willing to take her to play production four days a week. I wouldn't have loved not being able to chaperone school field trips or attend class parties. I wouldn't have loved not being able to volunteer for school picture day, or for Fiesta de Arte, or to help bring the kids from their classrooms to the first floor conference room to have their vision and hearing tested once a year.

And I wouldn't have loved not being able to visit my mom as often as we do.

I guess being an associate in new market development just isn't the right job for me.

And that's okay.

Because I already have my dream job, and unbelievably enough, it's being Amira's mom.

And right now, that's the job that has to come first.

Chapter Two

"Get in shape, girl, you'll love the feeling.

Get in shape, girl, it's so appealing."

Kick-ass 80's commercial

Dear Lorenzo,

I have no idea where to start this entry.

I'm not sure why I'm having such a tough time writing tonight. Amira's lying beside me, sleeping soundly. The TV is on of course, but it's been muted and the only distractions I have are the whirs of the ceiling fan and the occasional sound of fireworks from some asshole who can't accept the fact that the 4th of July has come and gone.

Although it's past 10:00 p.m., I'm not particularly tired because I've done nothing but sit on my ass all day.

I've done nothing but sit on my ass for the past two years.

Don't get me wrong, I've taken breaks from my inertia. I still love to work out and so on most days, I take long walks or use the elliptical or even jump up and down on the trampoline. And I always show up for our daughter, of course, but other than that...

Couch, tv, potato chips, wine.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

If you could see me now, you'd barely recognize me.

I barely recognize me.

And it's not just because I've gained so much weight, you never gave a shit about that so you probably wouldn't notice, but...it's my lackluster attitude. I no longer have the energy to even pretend to care about much of anything these days.

This isn't a life.

Not the life I want to live.

So...Mira and I leave for Boston in a few weeks and the plan is to stay for the entire month of August (or, until my mother and I can barely stand to look at each other, much less live together, a moment longer). But before we leave Chicago I will take the next two weeks to revise my resume and submit my applications for grad school.

And I've gotta get serious about losing some weight. No more fucking around. I'm old so it won't be easy to lose but I finally feel ready to try.  

And I don't want to work anywhere that makes me miserable. My life is hard enough right now without adding a shitty job to the equation. I want to work for an organization that appreciates me. I want to surround myself with people who make me want to get up and get out of bed every morning. 

I want to be happy again.

Despite the fact that I can no longer be with you.

  

Back To Life

"I want my mullet back, my old Camaro and my eight track."

Robbie Ray, as seen on Hannah Montana

Dear Lorenzo:

I'm lonely.

And scared.

And tired.

Really, really tired.

And stressed the hell out.

There.

I said it.

That wasn't so bad.

And it only took two years and seven days to wake up.

I miss you but that's not all of it.

I miss my old life.

I miss not having to worry so much. 

I worry all the time now.

I worry about Amira and I worry about your mom.  I worry about single parenthood and about whether or not I'm doing a good enough job. I worry about going back into the workplace after spending the past ten years as a stay at home mom. I worry that working outside of the home will be another adjustment that Amira will have to add to an already full plate of crappy adjustments. I worry about my work schedule conflicting with school plays and dance recitals. I worry about not being able to take her to theater class after school anymore. I worry about field trips and class parties. Bullying and peer pressure. I worry, and worry, and worry, and worry, and worry.

And when I'm done with all of that worrying, I go to bed. 

Alone.

I miss you.

I miss your presence. I miss not being afraid at nighttime. I miss not repeatedly checking to make sure all of our doors and windows are locked. I miss hearing you argue with Dwight about Madden or an upcoming game. I miss laughing with you and fighting with you and all the fun of making up.

I miss you.

And for the first time in two years and seven days...

I'm lonely.

I think between the grief, shock, antidepressants, and, let's keep it real here, self-medicating, I haven't really FELT anything for a long time. When friends have asked if I'm interested in dating yet I've always laughed and thought to myself, "How can I date, I'm completely dead inside." 

But I'm starting to feel not so dead anymore. I'm starting to feel...sad. And lonely. And loss. Somehow I lost you. And it sucks.

I don't know what comes next for me. Work, grad school, I have no idea but...I'm not dead inside anymore. I'm sad, and scared and lonely but that's real. So...okay. 

Feeling sad and scared and lonely will have to do for now.

I'll figure the rest of it out as I go along.

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.

Me, Me, Me, Me, Me, Me, Me, Me

"There's just me. One is the magic number."

Jill Scott

Dear Lorenzo,

It's 5:57 a.m. and under normal circumstances, I would just be getting out of bed at this time, but my asthma's been kicking my ass all night so I've been up, and uncomfortable, for the past few hours. Amira's still sound asleep and the entire house is still dark and quiet so I figured this would be the perfect time to write.

Since you've been gone I've done my best to make up for what our daughter has lost. It isn't possible to replace you of course, but I've done everything I can to lessen her pain. We talk about you as much, or as little, as she needs in any given moment. When she wants to be distracted I take her to the movies, museums, or play dates at the park. When she wants to feel her sadness, I hold her in my arms and let her cry. Nighttime is still rough. Afraid to be alone in the dark, she sleeps in my bed with me. On weekends, before we've made our plans for the day, while I'm still cleaning the kitchen or doing the laundry or on the ellliptical, she follows me from room to room, not letting me out of her sight. She is aware of her anxieties and she hates them. She's in therapy and has learned to journal her feelings or to talk to me whenever the need to vent arises. I spend a lot of time telling her that her feelings, her fears, are perfectly normal and that she is going to continue to heal. I do everything that I can to make her feel safe.

I spend a lot of time being her mom.

There is no one or nothing on this planet that I love more than my child but...

It is exhausting.

I am exhausted.

Writing replenishes me.

Always has.

I've written my way through the hardest periods of my life. M.S., losing my dad, new motherhood, and now losing you.

I know that I have to start taking care of myself again. I have to care for myself as diligently as I care for our daughter. I have to write and get some form of exercise daily. I have to take a multivitamin and my MS drugs, daily. I have to reach out to friends and family, meditate, eat and sleep well, DAILY. Not just when I remember. Not just when I feel like it, or when I'm in a good mood. I have to take care of myself every fucking day. I can't continue to come last on my own list.

If I do not take care of myself, I will not be able to take care of our daughter and that is NOT an option for me.

So babe, I'm committing to you, to Amira and to myself that I will make my own well-being a priority in my life again. I will do my best to get enough sleep at night. I will continue to work out and write. I will keep binge-inducing junk food out of the house and instead keep the fridge and pantry stocked with the fruits, veggies and healthier treats that I love and can eat moderately.

I will cut way back on alcohol and join Amira in her nighttime meditation.

I will do my best from here on out to take care of me again.

ALL The Crazy

Dear Lorenzo,

Right now it's 2:10 a.m. and I'm wide awake, watching tv and feeling my feelings so...here goes nothing.

I just finished giving Amira a nebulizer treatment because she woke up coughing and even though she's stopped now and has returned to sleeping peacefully, even though she still has one day of prednisone left to take, I'm worried that it's my fault she's still sick because I sent her back to school today and then let her stay at the park for a little while with her friends before we went to both Jewel and Whole Foods and maybe that was too much for her and I am the worst mother alive.

I have an open house at Northwestern in a few weeks where I will learn more about their Masters in Creative Writing program and I don't even know why I'm wasting my time (even though it's probably only a 20 minute trip to Evanston) because there's no way in hell I'm going to get into Northwestern.

We leave for New Orleans in five days to accept your diploma from EDI and even though I'm looking forward to the trip, after paying for Barbados and camp and now this, I am so frigging poor right now that a part of me doesn't even want to go to Boston in August and would rather stay home where I don't have to spend any additional money but I can't do to that my mother or my daughter and so I'm going home even if it's only for a week.

Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives is on and I'm watching a brotha make peas and rice, plantain and red snapper and the meal looks so pretty and like home to me but it still isn't something that I would ever eat, not even when we were in Barbados, and I'm wondering about the last non-salad meal that I ate at any restaurant and the only thing that comes to mind is the risotto that I had last summer in Boston and I'm wondering if the reason that I prefer raw foods like salad isn't only because of the crunchy texture but because after YEARS of dieting I'm completely fucked up now and I'm grateful that my daughter has both your confidence and appetite and I will do everything in my power to keep her that way.

Amira just woke herself up coughing and briefly climbed into my lap and I wish I hadn't told her about Indian Boundary Park tomorrow because if she keeps coughing I'm keeping her home and I worry that both she and our friends will be disappointed and that once again, I'm the worst mother/friend alive.

I miss Maggie a lot. I haven't talked to her in months and I don't know if she's grieving or pissed at me or a combination of both but I'm sad and mad and miss the shit out of my best friend.

And...there you have it. All the feels, ALL the crazy, which I'm kind of glad I got off of my chest. THIS is what I've been trying to keep at bay, to drown out with food or alcohol for the past two years.

Me.

And you know what? It wasn't even that bad. The world didn't come to an end because of my neuroses. I don't fantasize about kicking puppies or shoplifting. I'm just a relatively normal human being with my own unique set of fuckedupness. And maybe that's okay because I bet everyone has their own unique set of fuckedupness too. And after writing all of this down, I actually feel better than I have in a really long time.

Like maybe me and all of my crazy are going to be okay after all.