The day has been kind of tedious. I suppose there are a lot of adult days that are kind of tedious, or super tedious. I spent the day trying to find a moment to feel some pretty needed feels.
Today, seven years ago, I began a week that would shape the woman I hope to be strong enough to manage. Seven years ago, I had this tiny twelve-week-old human that screamed at me for hours – everyday. I was a baby too.
It was a Thursday. I received a terrible phone call, but I didn’t cry. I organized, showered, grabbed my keys, and drove to the airport, but I didn’t cry. We drove back towards our shared address, and made lists of everything that needed to be done. You cried. I picked you up over, and over again. I am good in crisis, and never cried.
I remember the week, and I don’t remember it at all. I remember not having a moment to think. I remember racing between a grieving family, and a nursing infant. Neither of who knew, understood, or could even care about the other one. I remember screaming at my partner, because I never cried. I picked you up, again.
I bought black clothes, I picked up shirts at the cleaners and I pressed them again. I printed photos, and bought glue sticks. I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and watched the stars. I selected flowers, and dusted picture frames. I never cried.
I have wept every year since.
I cry today because the woman I am would do this again, and again for anyone who needed someone really fucking built for crisis. I cry today for the greatest loss of friendship I have ever experienced. I cry because my strength knows that not every relationship survives trauma, and everyone grieves exactly how they need to. My belated tears are the conditioning that make me strong enough for the next crisis.
Every year I weep, and I feel the feels.