The Truth About Forever

"That was the thing. You just never knew. Forever was so many different things. It was always changing, it was what everything was really about. It was twenty minutes, or a hundred years, or just this instant, or any instant I wished would last and last. But there was only one truth about forever that really mattered, and that was this: it was happening. Right then, as I ran with Wes into that bright sun, and every moment afterwards. Look, there. Now. Now. Now."

--Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever


I haven't written anything in a while.

I've been busy, certainly. Since I graduated last May my life has seemed so incredibly slow--blank hours at work, blank hours at home. I fill up them up the best I can with little projects or tv shows or books. Or sleep. Yet lately things have been speeding up again; my life rushing ahead at a breakneck pace. Weekends in Bourbonnais, parties and dinners and meetings, rehearsals and performances, work.

A few weeks ago, I started feeling that I was emerging from a fog I didn't even realize I was in. I started feeling stronger, more myself, more aware. I have more good days than bad days. I can say to strangers, "My dad passed away last year," without choking on the words. I'm eager to get news about my grad school applications. Before, I avoided thinking about moving or choosing a graduate school in concrete terms. I simply could not imagine what my life might look or feel like. I couldn't bear it.

It felt like waking up from a dream that was so real I thought I was already awake. It's not that I think I'm past grief, as if grief is just a veil laid down over my real self, intact but covered up for the moment. Grief, when it's true, never goes away. It becomes a part of you. The pain, the truth, the love, the loss--everything you learn when someone you love so dearly leaves you--alter you irrevocably. There is no "old me" to get back to.

I know that sounds depressing. And in some ways, it is. Old Me had such a beautiful sense of security--Mom and Dad would always be there to help me, to be proud of me, to encourage me. New Me knows that people can't be there forever, even if they want to be. New Me knows she has to figure some things out on her own. New Me knows the depths of sadness, its shades and varieties: melancholy and despair and nostalgia.

But in other ways, it's not so depressing at all. It's a more complex life, where joy and sadness can get tangled together, but I feel that it is ultimately a rich life. I see things and feel things so much more intensely, now. I appreciate relationships and moments in a way I never did before. I've learned (just recently, really) that I can move forward with my life, even though it'll be so much harder than I expected. I wish with my whole heart that I could have learned these things without having to lose him. But that's not how life works.

So, like I said at first, it seems that my life is filling out again. I got accepted to the Masters in Literature program at UC, my dad's alma mater. They loved my paper on Midnight's Children; they thought my writing was insightful and my qualifications impressive. (Whoa. I know.) The University offered me a full-tuition scholarship, along with a job as a Teaching Assistant. So I'd effectively get my MA for free.....no student loans. At all. I spent a few days last weekend meeting current students and professors at the university, and I had a really great time. I mean, really. I don't know yet if it's my final decision, because I am still waiting to hear from several universities. But I kept on having this feeling of rightness that weekend. And more importantly, of excitement and anticipation about the next few years. I can honestly say I have not once felt those emotions since Dad died. It was all so sudden, so traumatic...I felt like my life ended in that hospital room, too. For a long time, I wondered whether I'd ever get it back.

But I think I'm (getting close to the point where I'm) ready to move forward with my life. To pursue my dreams, to embrace change and be a grownup. To let myself experience new things and grow, even though I'll always be aware that Dad isn't here. Even though there will always be a gap. Even though I'll just be adding to the list of Things My Dad Will Never Know About Me. It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it.