Sunday Letter #11


I’m finally home after two weeks away. The first week, with your family was such a good support. I can’t begin to tell you how lucky you were to have them. How incredibly warm and accepting they are. How loving. All of those things mean that I’m lucky to have them now, too… Because they adopted me. 100%.

After the week with them, I took another week to visit friends from college. You’d met two¬†of them, and heard stories about another. Throughout my visits, my travels, I kept wondering what you’d think of things, what you’d want to see… What you’d say. The first couple I stayed with were the ones you’d met. You really liked both of them, and I wish you’d been able to visit too, because you would have had a blast. They live near Baltimore, and we walked right by Oriole Park at Camden Yards. There was even a game going on while we were there. I almost decided to last minute go to the game, since they’re doing well this year, and I thought you would have liked it. Opted not to because my friends weren’t too into it.

The next friend I visited was in Richmond, and I wish I could have heard your take on that portion of my trip. You would certainly have liked her, and the adults in her household… The kids, probably not so much, because of your general take on kids to whom you weren’t related. (Your nieces were excluded from that general emotion, which was obvious to anyone who saw you with them, or even heard you talk about them.) I think you would have liked their dog, and loathed the cat, though he was incredibly laid back. We even played geek trivia one night, which you would have absolutely loved.

The last couple I visited were just outside of Washington, D.C., and I really wanted you to be there with me for that… I would have loved to be with you exploring the sites, seeing everything. As it is… Things like that aren’t incredibly fun for me without someone around who loves it, and the friend I was with felt very similar. So instead of doing the hardcore tourist thing and going inside, we wandered around to various locations, saw them, and then went back to her place. I think you would have found her husband fascinating. He’s a very interesting person with a very strong personality. I THINK you would have liked him. The second day, we went to Teddy Roosevelt’s memorial island, which is this lovely island full of nature. You would definitely have loved that, though I don’t think you would have appreciated the snake we saw on our way in.

The whole trip was a good break from the constant reminders that you’re gone. Not that I forgot, and not that I didn’t think of you constantly throughout the trip (as if that wasn’t obvious), but there is a big difference between always thinking about you and wondering what you’d say, and driving by places you should be…. doing things you should be doing with me. On the drive back, I started feeling it, the gaping hole where you should be, again. As I crested the hill at Park Street, where you told me you always knew you were home because of the view, I tried to take a picture. Taking pictures while driving and not being able to look at what I’m taking a picture of doesn’t go too well, so it didn’t turn out. You can’t see the flag. You said that was one of your favorite views of the city.

It’s good to be home, in my own bed, with my cat. I still have pictures of you on my table, and said hello to one of them when I walked in. I still have one of your pillows on my bed that still smells like your bed. I had thought that when I got home from this trip, I’d be more likely to do things; start moving on… So far, I really don’t want to. It’s not even that I’m just unmotivated right now, it’s that I really don’t WANT to put things away of yours, take the reminders out of sight, stop smelling your pillow. So I won’t. I know you’d think I’m stupid for it… but you would have no room to speak, considering the things you kept around, kept torturing yourself with.

I still miss you. I still love you. I wish I could tell you that in person one more time.


Bad picture of coming home.
Bad picture of coming home.

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