I can’t move forward when I’m surrounded by my past.
Accepting my past is more than just stating it, it’s about action. I wake up every morning and get ready in a bathroom that still has Eric’s toothbrush in the holder. I get dressed in a closet surrounded by his clothes. I walk through an apartment filled with shrines to the man I lost. The man who will never come back and love me again.
What is supposed to be a comfortable sanctuary is a depressing reminder of what I used to have.
No more. From this point on, I’m moving forward. I can’t stand for my life to be dormant anymore. I already lost Eric, and I don’t want to lose Jace as well.
Sincerely,
Hollyn
Dear Life,
With the world at my fingertips, where does one even begin?
School? Job? Traveling?
There are so many options, so many avenues to travel down. What if I pick the wrong thing and miss this opportunity for starting something new?
After talking to Grams, I’ve been able to put to rest her reasoning for sheltering me from the world, and now I’m ready to take the next step in my life. What it’s going to be, I’m not quite sure, but what I do know is I’m excited about it.
If only I could experience whatever it is with Carter. That will take me some time to get over, but scars heal and make you stronger. Chalk it up to a life experience.
Weirdly, I’m excited to have a life experience under my belt. Look at me adulting!
Kind regards,
Daisy
Dear Life,
If you’re trying to make me crack, you’re doing one hell of a job.
Too bad for you, I’m stronger than you might think. I don’t want to tempt you, but you’re going to have to try a little harder. Yeah, I might have shown some weak spots, but with a little motivation and reassurance, I’m coming back stronger than ever before.
It’s time to stand up for what’s right, to truly face my fear, accept my past, and move the fuck on to happiness. It’s time to take what’s been broken and make it right.
Jace
Dear Life,
You are one confusing motherfucker.
Carter
Step Eight: Live
DAISY
“Want a bite?”
The chipmunk next to me skittishly looks at my half-eaten Snickers bar, back at me, then back at the bar, and when I think he’s about to claw my eyes out to take the whole thing, he backs away and takes off into the shrubbery below.
“Careful, friend,” I call out, “that water is still cold.”
Peeking over the ledge, I don’t spot the chipmunk, only the crystal-clear mountain water I earlier mistakenly dipped my toe in—thinking a little splash would be nice, not realizing the water was still very cold. Duh, Daisy, altitude and everything.
Eh, you live and you learn.
And boy, am I living.
With my hands behind me, I lean into the rock I’m sitting cross-legged on and enjoy the wind blowing through my hair, my head bent back, taking in the crisp mountain air.
This is my second hike with the small hiking group I joined, and even though it’s challenging, it’s rewarding. Thankfully all those years of going for brisk walks with Grams has kept me relatively fit. Even better? The small group I walk with also enjoys solitude, so as much as we walk in a group for safety, I can spend moments like these quietly appreciating the beauty without having to make conversation. The mountains have become my new addiction. It’s so calm and peaceful and there’s nothing more exhilarating than reaching your destination only to look out into the vast wilderness and appreciate this beautifully imperfect world.
The best part of hiking, I can clear my mind and really focus on the here and now. My brain settles into a happy place, like meditation, only fixating on one thing: my destination and the strenuous journey I make to get there.
Breathing in deeply, I exhale, shut my eyes and let the wilderness speak around me.
Silence.
HOLLYN
Anxiety high, throat clamped tight, fingers taking in the feel of his fabric one last time, I sit cross-legged in my closet, Eric’s clothes surrounding me, the feel of sorrow once again eating me whole.
Dress shirts, slacks, shoes, sweatpants, firefighter T-shirts. They envelope me on the floor, his scent encompassing me.
In my hands, I grip one of my favorite shirts, his John Elway jersey. So many memories were made in this jersey. So many Sundays he spent wearing this jersey, drinking beer with his buddies, pulling me onto his lap, his hand clasped on my waist, whispering into my ear during the game, telling me how beautiful I am, how he was going to celebrate with me after the Broncs won. Waking up on Mondays, his jersey covering me while I made coffee for the both of us, only to have him walk out shirtless, a devilish look on his face, like he was going to eat me up, right there in the kitchen, coffee in hand. And most mornings, with this jersey still covering my body, he did.
And his purple dress shirt, the one his friends gave him crap about, the one Eric said only real men wear violet. It was the same shirt he wore when he proposed to me. The same shirt he ripped all the buttons off in a silly heat of passion when we came home. Acting like some sexed-up version of Tarzan, I can still see him hopping on the couch, tearing his shirt apart, and yelling that I said yes for everyone to hear. The shirt was useless after that, but he kept it because to him, it was something he wore on one of the best days of his life. And there goes one more tear down my cheek.
And his trainee shirt, the one he wore with pride, because being a civil servant was important to him. Generations of policemen and firemen ran in his family, and he wanted to carry the torch of serving the people. And he did, beautifully. It was vital to him. Even before he had a chance to finish training, he was always helping out the community, whether it was buying out the lemonade stand at the local park and serving drinks with children to thirsty park-goers, or lending a hand to someone on the side of the highway whose tire was flat. He was always serving graciously and with the will to emulate the men before him.
Lying back into the pile, I surround myself in Eric, aching for his touch, his deep, rich voice, that mind-altering smirk of his. Just one more hug, one more kiss, one more I love you. If I knew it was the last, I would have made it the best, never letting go.
“Unchained Melody” by The Righteous Brothers plays on repeat, Eric’s favorite song to sing to me when he was feeling playful. Kneeling on the ground, hands clasped in front of him, singing, “I need your love,” like a scene out of Top Gun but instead of singing “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feeling,” he would serenade me with his horribly off-key voice, making me giggle when he would grab me by the waist and force me to sway with him around the apartment until the song was over. It was no wonder I loved this man so deeply.