It’s been one year and one day.
I would like to be able to say I am a better person than last year.
I would like to say I am more patient than last year.
I would like to say that I yell less at my children than last year.
I would like to say that I try to look past the outside of people to see what is really going on within.
I would like to say that my children are safer than last year.
I would like to say that I can’t still see, in vivid detail, the look of fear, pain, and grief on my friend’s face.
I would like to say I have become better at making popcorn and pancakes.
I would like to say I don’t think about it most days when I drop the girls in their shared classroom.
The truth is I still yell and burn popcorn and think about it all the time. I can still remember the sounds, and boxes of letters, and massive amounts of pain and love all coming together to form this strange tsunami of fear and affection.
I spent yesterday with old friends and new, texting with the lady who has a piece of my heart, a lady I will drop anything to be next to if she needs it… I have no doubt she would do the same, she would show up with a shovel, no conversation and no questions asked.
Speaking of conversations, there are ones that our country gave up on, conversations that still need to be had. I don’t care if you are pro this or anti that. Noah and the other twenty-five people who passed on that horrific day deserve to have these conversations continued. I don’t give a shit if you think they are hard or uncomfortable, try on the alternative for five minutes and you’ll never shut-up again. Trust me.
I’m pro-honest-love, because if you can’t be honest with love what can you be?
I’m pro-conversation, all conversations, even the yucky, vulnerable, scary kind.
I may not have accomplished all of those things above but the one thing I can say is that I love brighter and bigger and more loudly than I did 366 days ago.