Approaching the one year anniversary. Over and over again,
telling myself that this is real, that I will never see her in person again. It
still feels impossible, like I will wake up from a bad dream. But I know this
can’t be a bad dream, because I also know that if the tragedy didn’t happen,
Tavi wasn’t conceived, or born. If this were all a dream, this whole year, I
never would have gotten married or moved to El Cerrito. I would do ANYTHING to
turn back time or travel back in time and make Emily still be alive. ANYTHING.
But it happened. It fucking happened. WTF.
That’s the Emily in me at Barnes and Nobles, when I look
around at everything and see possibility, excitement, creative inspiration.
When I decide to buy the entire three seasons of Downton Abbey for Lena, even
though it’s expensive. That’s the sort of gift Emily wouldn’t think twice about
buying. As most gifts were. But tv show gifts, in particular.
That’s the Emily in me when I lie on the floor and let Bean
lick my face. Not caring if it’s germy or dirty, or where her tongue has been.
Just feeling the love.
That’s the Emily in me when I think up new ideas for
teaching my students. When I am in awe of their 11 year old brains. When I want
to get carried away with YA stories, right alongside them.
I try to see her when I look in the mirror. I think she
could have been much more beautiful than me. I always wanted her to have
health, have a fullness to her. She was deteriorating for so long. The mark of
illness and poverty were there, on her face.
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