Blessed
Dear Lorenzo, It is a miracle at which I will never stop but to marvel. This miracle of coming back to life. I did not think I'd know true joy again. Losing you was inexplicably brutal. Six years later and an unanticipated glimpse of the wooden cutting board on which you used to eat your cereal still quickens my pulse as I stop for a moment to remember. Losing you was devastating. Losing me was worse. I'd been a lifelong optimist. A relentlessly (and/or annoyingly) glass is half-full kind of girl. You called me Disneyland. Your death robbed me of so much, not the least of which was my ability to hope. I no longer believed I could be happy. And that traumatized me just as much as your death. Healing has been a remarkable sight to behold. Cuz I remember the aftermath. I remember going outside in mismatched shoes and not giving a fuck. I remember the desolation replacing what once had bloomed bright with my dreams. I remember breaking down in the middl...