Page 199 of Feels Like Forever

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One at a time, slowly but surely, the days pass.

Getting back into the swing of things feels strange because part of my swing was seeing Lolly every day—it’s strange andupsetting.

The week after her passing hurt, but I learn in the following days that the real pain hadn’t settled in yet at that time. Therealpain of losing someone you love comes when you try to get back to the world and are forced to notice they aren’t in it anymore. The real pain comes while you’re doing everyday things like you always did and then you realize you aren’t quite the same person you always were. Certain songs become agonizing to listen to and certain parts of TV shows aren’t funny anymore and certain places can’t even be driven past without risk of you breaking down.

I make it, though.

I make it through the memories that assail me out of nowhere, and the nights of poor sleep that come around, and the crippling anxiety that seizes me when I imagine Liv-Andria or Rae dying without warning the way Lolly did. I make it through the uncomfortable meeting I have to have with my dad about her will—he’s not happy that she left almost everything to me.

Not only do I notwantto be totally shattered and upset, I also have things to relish in my life. I have those girls’ sunshine to soak up and a cool job to go to and do well. And Lolly…well, it’s like she and I thought after Pop died: he wouldn’t want us to waste away missing him,wouldwant us to go on living and simply carry him along however we could. That’s what we did, and that’s what I’ll do now that she’s gone, too.

And, really, even though people don’t like to think about it, the truth is that no one can escape death.

That was something else she told me after Pop went.

She didn’t say it right away and she didn’t say it lightly, but she did remind me of that fact.

I would’ve loved for my grandparents to get to live longer—reallylive, not be cooped up in Quiet Springs with dementia—but they made it longer than a lot of people do. I was a fortunate bastard to have them in my life for as long as I did. And I’m beyond fortunate to have Liv and Rae with me now.

So, yes, I make it through the bullshit. One day at a time. Slowly but surely. As Lolly used to say: a positive mind is a healthy mind.

That’s not to say feeling the pain is bad or weak or wrong, of course. I’ve learned it’s just as healthy to respect the pain as it is to strive to get out of it. Being positive shouldn’t equal refusing to feel the negative things; although I think I used to do that in some ways, having twisted up what Lolly meant, knowing Liv has taught me otherwise. She has taught me that facing the bullshit is good—staying stuck is what harms us.

As for Liv herself…. Her nightmares aren’t super frequent, but they do still happen and she doesn’t seem to make much more progress in handling them. Then one day at the park, she has a full-blown panic attack because she thinks she sees that son of a bitch named Bud, who she fears is still at large. We don’t find out if it’s him or not because she freaks the fuck out and I have to settle her while keeping Rae from freaking out, too, over the state her aunt is in. We cut the park trip short and go home, where she and I come to the agreement that she should look up someone to talk to.

Neither of us really knows where to start, so we hit up the internet, and we find an organization right here in town that offers assistance to victims of domestic violence and sexual abuse. She’s on the phone with them the next day at 8 AM sharp, and when she hangs up, she’s a fair mix of nervousness and hope. The lady was very sweet, she said, and she invited her to a group meeting being held that very day at lunchtime—Liv can participate any way she wants to, and someone will talk with her privately afterward if she’s interested.

“That sounds awesome,” I say. “So you’re going to that?”

Her nod is small. “But what if I freak out about—aboutit?” she asks worriedly.

I get her face in my hands and assure her, “That will be absolutely fine. You won’t be weird for that at all, babe, and you won’t be the only one struggling. Everyone there will be struggling with something and I bet money they won’t be able to keep calm about it either.”

I put a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Besides, you are the strongest person I know. You can get through this. I’m sure it’ll be awkward and challenging and a lot of other things, but you can get through it. They’ll help you, and so will I.”

She believes me, and she goes for it.

The smile she gives me that evening when she tells me about it is happy even though it comes with misty eyes: she can tell she’s going to benefit from the resources at that place, but she knows it won’t be an easy road. She only spoke to introduce herself, but many of the other victims talked about their own horrors, and listening to them was painful for her. Still, being there offered her and the others fellowship they’d never found anywhere else, and she’s certain it’s going to be good for her.

She sighs the reminder, “I can do it,” both to me and to herself.

I nod. “Yes, you can. One day at a time. Slowly but surely.”

Nodding, too, she also reiterates, “They’ll help me and so will you.”

I pick up her right hand, show her ring to her, and then kiss it. “Count on it, Liv.”

Her smile gets brighter and her eyes grow mistier.

She’s beautiful.

*

Liv-Andria turns twenty-five the second week in January. Even though I tell her we can celebrate in any way she wants, she picks a dinner of homemade chicken-and-broccoli alfredo and a dessert of‘a whole bunch’of chocolate chip cookies baked by me.

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