I feel like I should say the day you died was a blur, but in truth, every second is seared into my brain, an endless loop.
It’s the funny, unexpected twist of parenting. You kids come into our lives. Helpless. Dependent. And along with that we are given a feeling of value and importance because we are needed.
For some reason, my iPhone asks if I would like to connect to a network called “HOME” whenever I am in one of Manhattan’s most expensive neighborhoods.
As annoying as a group text can be at times, it’s one of the easiest ways for ALL of your friends to stay in touch these days.
The back of the bus terrified me and rightly so seeing as that’s where all the burn-outs and tough kids sat and I just wanted to find my solace with the nerds in the very front who wouldn’t harass me.
But the happiness fades. The lust fades. It all fades. And then you’re left alone, by yourself, wondering how in a city of close to nine million people, there’s not one that understands you.
All your friends left you. Alone. In the dark.
“I’ve already explained to you how ______ works at least seven times, and if I explain it again part of me is going to die.”
Busted lips and bruised arms.
Letting your friends go for any reason is never easy, but never feel threatened by the benefits of splitting up so each of you can walk your own path for a little while.