29 Going on 35
Babes,
I don't have the words. Tomorrow you'd be 35. Your first birthday that I lived, and you didn't, was your 30th. I can't remember it, but I think I went to Kelly O's. So much is missing from that time. I have significant gaps in recollection. At the time, it felt like I would never be able to forget, and now I struggle to put it all together. Your 30th birthday was nearly a year from your death, putting that anniversary about 3 weeks away. It's all really heavy. It's so fucking heavy it feels crippling at times. I get caught up in all the loss. Mine, yours, ours, the worlds.
I know there is no way to know what your life would be like now. And for the most part, I do not let my mind go there. It's a dangerous game. Because there is no other version of reality, and getting caught in imagining one only hurts more. Who would you be? Who would we be? Would we be? 6 years is a long time. What would we have built together, what beauty would our life be, would we still be a we? I can get so caught in the loss that I lose sight of who you were.
But, going through your pictures today, I was reminded of who you were. The inspiration. The joy. The laughter. The love. The light. I had forgotten your playful essence. Your joie de vie.
I'm sorry, 29 years was all the world got. It feels like you were just finding your stride. But looking back, I was reminded how big you lived, how you really went for it, and I will forever be grateful.
Loving you.
