Monday, July 13, 2015

Fucking 44

My daughter's home from camp and I want to write about her return.  But, all I can think about is that Jill's 44th birthday is tomorrow and we don't get to celebrate it w/ her.

So, what do we do?

Do we celebrate in honor of her?  What does that look like?

Do we consciously avoid celebration?  

Do we just let the day happen and react w/ the emotions that invade us?  

Honestly, I haven't planned anything for this day.  And I feel a little guilty about it.  But, on the other hand, what's to be planned?  What's 'appropriate'?  

Over dinner tonight, Ro suggested we play "Happy Birthday, Princess" tomorrow morning.  When Rory was in her Disney phase, we stumbled upon this golden nugget.  And we've played it for one another's birthdays ever since.  It's obnoxious and over-the-top.  It's Disney.  We sing it w/ glee.

So, that'll happen.

But, what else?  I certainly do not want to gloss over the importance of the day.  And I won't.  Mainly I just want to honor my best friend in a way that is pleasing to both my child and myself.  I just don't know what that looks (or feels) like...


Since Jill passed just over eight months ago, my sister, Lindsay, and I have sporadically expressed the following curt question to one another in conversation.  "Where the fuck is she?"  

While I won't speak for Linds (though I probably can w/ some accuracy), I tend to deliver this line w/ a combination of perplexity, exasperation, and a minute moment of utter disbelief.  

This question rises up w/in me again tonight.  Seriously, where the fuck is she?

To this day, I don't think I fully accept or grasp the fact of my reality.  Most of the time I do.  But there are these openings, these pockets where that incredulity still resides.   

Over the past week or so, I notice I'm paying more attention to the Jilly pics positioned throughout the house.  Some I stare at, allowing myself to transport back to that moment, reliving a watered down version of it it in my mind.  Others, like the one that hangs above my head in the living room right now, I find myself looking at Jill for some kind of sign or communication.  Something from her to let me know she's okay, she's in a good place.  Ridiculous, but true.

I'm tired.  I've been tired all day.  I tend to get this way when something is working at me from the inside.

I don't know what to do, or expect from tomorrow.  It's not a day like any other day.  And I don't want to treat it as such.  I won't.  I just don't have a plan.

Jill would have a plan.

All love,

J, J, & r



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