On the eve of my anniversary, I am not frantically making back-up plans for August 26 or watching our wedding video on loop through wine goggles.
Tonight is all about the midnight deadline for an essay about me and Laurie commissioned by Red magazine in the UK. Lotsa last-minute swapping of “realized” for “realised” and “truck” for “lorry” because audience. It requires my AP Style Book, which for no good reason is hidden deep in a desk drawer atop a nondescript black notebook. And hey, I could actually use that notebook for a client meeting later this week.
Except the black notebook ain’t empty.
The handwriting alone would give me pause, but the three lines of cursive words I encounter are so uncannily timed that I quickly carry the notebook out of the office.
If I read any further, time will become fluid and irrelevant.
If I read any further, I won’t file the essay on time.
Essay officially filed, I can now indulge in circular questioning, right?
As in, how do I not remember receiving this anniversary book from Alberto?
Also, how did it hide for eight years?
And, more importantly, what does the next page say?
Fuck yeah! More please.
Killing. Eating. Me. Here’s a little book of..what?
Oh, fuck the fence: is this…for real?
(Why did you shove this in a drawer, Tré? How could you shove this in a drawer?)
Feeling like a textbook widow right about now—seriously, you took romantic gestures like THIS for granted?!—so yeah, moving along.
His collection. Of reasons.
And No. 10…
Apparently, it IS possible to fall in love all over again on your anniversary.
Even with your dead husband.
‘Scuse me while I swill some wine and watch my wedding video.
Over the past few days since my mom died I’ve thought about passages from ‘Splitting the Difference.’ I know I’m not the first to tell you this, but your ability to clearly and raw-ly describe grief and healing has been a help. Your book is normalizing the experience for me, which is oh-so-important. Thanks for all you do.
Celebrating this man—the myths and the memories—over midtown dinner tonight with Alberto’s sister and family. The birthday ritual of August 14th shapes and shifts each year, and this one finds us getting the band together. Though the seat beside me is not filled by the person who made this calendar date a remarkable one, his goddaughter in a tangerine tutu is a damn good understudy.
I intend to do a proper review on my Tumblr, but ‘Splitting the Difference’ was just as incredible as I hoped it would be. Never, ever, ever stop writing!
Two weeks ago, I gleefully accompanied my Grad-Student-Mom to NYU for her student I.D.
This week, I’ve been at Laurie’s side for the undergrad ritual in Charleston.
My proximity to these milestone moments in the lives of the two women I most love gives me all the prides and joys.