Dear Life(28)
How is it fair that I’m a widow?
That’s not fair either, but there you are, giving us these amazing gifts like the unconditional love of a man, or the sweet, contagious love of a daughter, and without warning, you rip them away from us?
Your actions make me cry. Your plans tear me apart. Your involvement in my sanity is eating me alive.
But, then you do something like today. You bring four strangers together who know nothing about each other and expose their brokenness, their common heartbreaks, and give them a reason to breathe.
The mutual need for companionship, for understanding.
I know what it’s like to lose someone. I know the emptiness that slowly erodes your heart. I can help him heal, which in return, will help me. If this is the first step of letting go, then I’m proud to say that I’m ready to take that first step.
Sincerely,
Hollyn
Dear Life,
How do you know if people like you? If they are being nice to be nice, or if they genuinely want to be nice to you? I’m not quite sure how to read Jace, Hollyn, and especially Carter.
He scares me, but then again, he’s so much like me. Wanting to be free, wanting to break out of the confines, the imprisonment he’s been living in. I know the feeling. But where he seems to have someone holding him back, I have fear keeping me in place.
Fear, probably my biggest enemy. I’m scared for so many reasons, but one of my biggest fears is never knowing what it’s like to experience life, to live on the edge, and to laugh with true friends.
Do you think they like me? Or do you think they pity me?
I have no clue how to approach them and I don’t want to look desperate. Gosh, why is this so hard?
I’m ready to let go of the old Daisy, but there is that little hint of fear dragging me backward with every positive thought. How do I push that fear away? Just dive in head first, sidestepping past the worry? Am I brave enough to do that?
I sure hope so.
Kind regards,
Daisy
Dear Life,
Letting go. Huh, easier said than done when it sits so fresh in your mind. There isn’t a minute that goes by that I don’t think about Hope, that I don’t picture her face, or smell her sweet, fresh baby scent. So how am I supposed to let that go when I’m still grieving? How could I ever stop grieving the loss of my flesh and blood?
Fuck, the pain is too overwhelming to even think about anything else.
Jace
Dear Life,
Fuck you.
Carter
Step Three: Grow Your Support
CARTER
“Toss me a beer, man,” Fitzy calls from his recliner, his entitled ass stretched out while Joe Buck talks about his winning prediction for the Super Bowl. “Buck is an idiot if he really thinks the Broncos are going to win again. No way. Their quarterback is way too young to carry the team.”
I reach into the cooler Fitzy firmly planted in the barrel of his coffee table and toss him a beer. “They won’t need their quarterback. Don’t you remember last year? Peyton Manning barely did anything, as it was all about the defense. Cam Newton wasn’t able to penetrate their unbeatable shield. Buck is right, Broncos are going to take it.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re a hometown boy.”
“Damn straight.” I sip my beer and dip a chip in my famous buffalo chicken dip I make every year for our Super Bowl party. And when I say Super Bowl party, I just mean the get-together of Fitzy and me. We like to keep things simple, too many people, too much talking, and too many unnecessary voices putting in their unwanted opinions drives us fucking mad.
Two years ago, we threw a Super Bowl bash, and it was the one and only after Fitzy and I could barely hear what the announcers had to say during the game. Plus, the people who came over were more interested in the halftime show and commercials, so we decided keeping it to just us was much better.
“I’ve been seeing this girl,” Fitzy says out of nowhere, a smirk on his face.
“You’ve been seeing a girl?” I can’t hide the shock in my voice. Ever since I’ve known Fitzy he’s never once made such a statement. He’s a pump-and-dump douchebag. I’ve had my fun, but I always felt the most fulfilled when I was in relationship, well, that was until Sasha ripped my testicles from between my legs. I used to like relationships. Now, not so much.
“Yeah. I met her during at my SkeeBall league.”
I direct a quizzical eyebrow at Fitzy, completely turning my body now to face him. “SkeeBall league? When the hell did you join a skee-ball league?”
He shrugs his shoulders as if it’s no big deal. “Can’t expect me to lie around here by myself, waiting for you to get off work to play. Some guy at work told me about it and I signed up.” Smiling at me, he pridefully says, “Come to find out, I’m pretty damn good at it. That’s what got the attention of Martha.”
“Martha?” I can feel the furrow in my brow and the scrunch in my nose. “Please tell me she’s young and not some sixty-year-old you think is a cougar when in fact she’s a sack of wrinkles.”
“Martha is a sixty-year-old woman, with a hot-as-shit granddaughter. I was skeeing it up against Martha, giving her a run for her money, when her granddaughter came up next to her to cheer on the old coot. I was so distracted by the miniskirt she was wearing, I blew my last toss, handing over the win to Martha. But it wasn’t too much of a hardship because I had a front row view of Clara jumping up and down in excitement for her grandma. Totally hot, man.”