24.

A day early..

Would he recognize me?

I’m not 16 anymore. I’m not about to turn 17 and looking forward to posting a silly photo on Instagram with the caption “young and sweet, only 17.” I’m not a new driver. I’m not a multi-sport athlete. I’m not balancing practices with studying for honors classes. I’m not anxious about tests and games. I’m not a kid with blind optimism for the future.

I’m almost 24. I’m planning what pictures of you to post to show people how much I love you. I’ve driven so much and even gotten a new car—a Jeep you’d love. I’m not playing sports anymore and that hurts my heart. I am balancing school and internship and bills and being a dog mom. I’m anxious about health and losing loved ones and living the rest of my life without you. I have a real grasp of how unfair life is and that the future is not guaranteed. I rely on meds to keep going.

Most days I forget. I don’t forget about you, I never could. I forget how young I was. I have lived many lives since then. I forget how real my trauma is. I forget what all I did. I forget I told mom and your sisters. I forget I was the last one to hear your voice. I forget my last image of you is what it is. I forget I didn’t cry at the funeral. I forget the complicated comfort in the stares of pity because it meant people remembered. I forget how much you’ve missed. I don’t care about the “big” things anymore. It doesn’t matter you’re not here for graduations—not as much as you not being here for me to call you and complain about my day. Don’t get me wrong, there’s an awkwardness in those big moments that you’re not where you’re supposed to be. But I miss you more in the everyday. In the moments I know we would talk about how cool you’d think my internship is, working with the athletes we watch on tv. In the moments you would send me silly texts or selfies to let me know you’re always around. I miss our inside jokes and how you would listen to everything I had to say like it was the most interesting thing you’d ever heard. I miss you asking if I wanted you to bring me food from town on your way home. I miss you bringing me food before every basketball game. I miss looking up and seeing you filming us to capture the moment forever.

I think I say the same things every time I talk about you. I brag about you a lot. In class, to my friends, to anyone who will listen. I tell them how much you loved me and made me believe I could be anything I wanted.

I reach for the phone to call you every single day. And as much as the realization that I can’t sucks, it’s a reminder I always knew you’d answer. As much as I want to tell you about my internship and school, I put your name in my passwords so you’re here in some way. I type your name every day and it makes me smile to remember you were on this same campus.

Grief is so complicated. While I sometimes don’t feel like the same person who had my dad, I grieve so many things. I grieve the person who would have toured college campuses and weighed options. I grieve the person whose dad would come for surprise visits to college like I saw you do so many times for Em. I grieve the person who got to go home on a weekend to my favorite grilled pork chops with the special sauce you made.

I can’t help but wonder who I would have been. Would I have played soccer in college? Would I have at least tried? Would I have to take meds to function? Would I be where I am? Would I have gone to State all along? I’ll never know, and that is tough sometimes.