My dad died on Valentine’s Day from a cancer in his brain that he fought for a year and a half. I’ll talk about that more one day, but what I want to say now comes from the buildup and the fallout. What I want to say is not about the suffering and turmoil that I watched my dad and my family experience for that year and a half, or the milestones we hit every day that I never mentioned, like the last day he had ice cream or went outside. I want to talk about him and I will. But today, I want to talk about the aftermath. People don’t know what to say about death and dying. They tell you they’re sorry and they could never do what you’re doing, they tell you how strong you are and graceful you’re being, admire how you’re “back to work” or “still able to have fun”. Grievers are told time and time again, nobody knows what the right thing to say is. And we have grace. Giggle it off and nod our heads, tell them thank you and it’s okay. Because it is okay. They aren’t doing anything wrong t...
The bad news, and the very very good news is that it won't be like this forever. It turns out I probably won’t live all the lives I thought I would. I might never be the girl who wears eyeliner wandering the streets of New York City in the rain. Or the girl who lives in a little house filled with plants by the beach. I might not ever get to go backstage with the band, or fly on a private jet. I might not have gardens to walk through or a sky rise office to look out from. I don’t know. I might. But I’m coming to terms with the fact that my life is just my own and there’s no amount of Pinterest pictures or Instagram stories that will make my pieces fit into something else. It’s weird to let go of that. That when I was 11 I had no idea who I would be at 15. And then I thought I knew. And then I thought I knew again after that. And now I think I know at 21. And the truth is I never will know, not until my very last day, when I look back and realize what it all ...