This time of year always weighs heavy on my shoulders, heart, and mind. I just feel off. Tomorrow is Bree’s first anniversary since she took her life. You know, it’s crazy. I never knew she even felt that way. I didn’t believe it when I saw the posts about her. I remember I was sitting in a mock trial with my mom and I was on my Instagram on her phone. I was smiling as I scrolled down my feed when a picture of Bree popped up. I saw that a friend had posted it and thought Bree had hacked her page or something silly like that. Then I read the caption and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Whenever someone said anything bad about me, Bree was the first to stand up for me. She always reminded me that I needed to keep my head up. Whenever she saw any kind of hint that I was sad or upset she would cheer me up in any way that she could. I was supposed to go get sushi with her and her son so I could meet him, but I never did. I was so busy taking in all of her positive advice and guidance that I didn’t once think that maybe she needed someone to do the same for her.
Then comes Alexa’s third year since passing away. I’d like to say that it doesn’t hurt anymore, but it does. Just as much as it did when I got the phone call. I woke up to my phone being blown up with texts and calls asking if I had heard about what happened to Alexa. I remember sitting with my back to the wall, my phone on my ear, the dial tone echoing against the inside of my head. Each ring killed off more hope. When I heard her telling me to leave a voice mail, I felt like my heart was going to explode. She taught me so much and I never really showed my appreciation because I was young and immature. I only cared about myself and drowning my problems in alcohol and pills. She was the one that I would run away to in the middle of the night when I couldn’t handle myself anymore. She was my guiding light. We weren’t saints when we were together. Of course we got drunk and did stupid stuff, but she kept me safe and didn’t let me out of her sight. The last normal times I had before I lost myself to drugs were with her. She wanted to see the new me. The grown up young woman she had anticipated seeing since watching me destroy myself. The one that would show her appreciation because she finally knew what it meant to do so. She never got to because I was selfish. I decided to hang out with someone who didn’t care for me when she came down to visit. Maybe I wasn’t as grown up as I thought. No, not maybe. I definitely wasn’t. The person she wanted to see would have done anything to go see her. I know she forgives me. I know she loves me. I know she wouldn’t want me to carry any guilt. Alexa wasn’t the type that wanted anyone to feel down. She wanted everyone to be happy. I can only hope to be half as loving and compassionate as she was. I’m still growing, and I know she understands.
Then comes my grandpa’s second anniversary since passing. Another person that loved me unconditionally. He was my biological father’s father. He chose to stay in my life when my father wouldn’t. I was his pride and joy. He made shirts with my baby pictures on them with the words “grandpa’s princess” underneath. If I ever needed school clothes, or anything in the world really, he helped me get them. He used to send me these things he would see on infomercials like a huge globe and those state quarter collections. I never really found a reason to cherish them. I was just a kid. I didn’t know what to do with a globe and some quarters that I couldn’t spend. Now I wish I would have kept them. When everyone else walked out of my life, he stayed. It was around Thanksgiving a few years ago when he last visited. Instead of spending it with my parents and him like I always looked forward to doing, I ran away. The cops brought me back the next day. I locked myself in my room. On my way to my door I saw his face and he looked so disappointed in me. I didn’t speak to him for years after that. Mostly because I was lost in drugs and hanging out with people who couldn’t care less for me. I remember the night I heard the news. My mom and I had just finished arguing. My stepdad came in to see if I was alright and we talked for a minute. Then my mom and dad both came into my room and sat beside me. My mom asked, “you remember your Grandpa Rushing?” A silly question of course, but it was just her not knowing how to approach what was coming next. I knew right away. I asked “did he die?” in a calm voice and she hugged me. I felt like someone took a butcher knife and stabbed it through my chest. I started yelling about how I never got to tell him I was sorry. It hurt more than anything I had ever felt before. It hurt because I loved him so much. Because I took him for granted. I always think I have an endless amount of time to fix what I’ve done, but I never do.
I’m not asking for any of you to feel sorry for me or offer condolences. I’m sharing this for two reasons. First, I need to get it off my chest before my ribs shatter. Second, I want to remind you guys to love and appreciate those who love you the most. You never know when their time will come and you’ll be stuck feeling like there’s no way you will ever be able to fix it. Don’t make the mistakes that I did.
That’s wonderful. I’m pretty positive donations will flood in and he will be taken care of. That’s usually what happens. Love it.
I didn’t watch the VMAs, so I honestly have no idea what anyone did, haha. I don’t watch much TV.
Are you in San Diego?
20 in October.
None of my old ones. It’s up to you though 😊