DIJA'S SECOND ACT

Dear Lorenzo, It's 8:31 a.m., Saturday morning and... I would love to tell you that I'm looking forward to the holiday. I would love to tell you that I have plans this Memorial Day weekend, that I have something to look forward to besides cooking and cleaning in the futile attempt to fill in the spaces of my mind in which you still reside...but I don't. And it wasn't until yesterday, sitting at the dining room table working through a list of three-year expired contracts and listening to a Tank playlist on Youtube, that I finally begin to realize just what the fuck I've been running from so hard. Every day's a carbon copy of the one before. In the aftermath, that sameness, the routines I created to maintain my sanity helped save my fucking life.  But it wasn't until yesterday, it wasn't until I took Tank into the bathroom with me, got into the tub, turned on the shower and immediately doubled over sobbing , it wasn't until that very fucking second tha...

Dear Lorenzo, Each day I find myself more and more astounded by the miracle, the marvel of coming back to life. In the aftermath I never could have imagined feeling this way again.  Content. Your death gutted me. I was unable to move. I was in a complete and total stupor for well over a year and it would be many more years before I could even imagine being a fully-functioning human being again.  It was the bleakest, most terrifying hollowness I can ever imagine. There were times that I literally did not think I'd survive it but somehow, with family, friends and the passage of time... I did. I have more good days than bad ones now. I once again care about whether or not my brows have been waxed or my nails have been painted in time for Summer. There are potato chips in my house purchased solely for the purpose of snacking; I no longer binge eat in the vain attempt to extinguish my grief or alleviate my loneliness.  I look forward to socializing with my mommy friends again...

Dear Lorenzo, I have no idea what I'm supposed to write about. It's Monday, 10:31 p.m. and I was supposed to be here, sitting in front of this very computer, approximately 16 1/2 hours ago but... This time it was the dishes. Last night, after getting in late from celebrating Mother's Day at Dwight and Danielle's house, I couldn't muster the energy to do the dishes and so, as usual, I had to do them as soon as I got out of bed this morning.  During my writing time. And as soon as the dishes were done I had to get on the elliptical for my obligatory 45 minutes because God forbid I don't work out, depriving myself of the endorphins I crave before beginning a long day of work and parenting.  It ain't pretty. And after the workout, it all snowballed from there. As it always does. I had to activate my new phone in order to have it ready for my 10:00 a.m. meeting with my boss. I had to get Amira up and conscious enough to get through the day productively. I had to ...

Dear Lorenzo, It's taken me four years, nine months, three weeks and three days to be able to say these words to you but here they are at long last.   I'm happy again. Finally. You used to call me Rainbow Brite or Disneyland. For the life of you, you could not figure out how a straight shooting, call-it-like-you-see-it realist such as yourself managed to wind up with an eternally happy, annoyingly sunny optimist like me.  On the day of your funeral I truly believed that my happiness had been buried with you but... I was wrong. Because four years, nine months, three weeks and three days later... I'm happy again. A few days ago, after posting on Facebook about how much I can't wait to come home, I received a direct message from an acquaintance from Cambridge, asking if he could take me out on a date this summer. My response was immediate and to the point "Thank you so much for thinking of me but I'm not ready to date just yet." Satisfied, I logged off of Fac...