Dear Vanessa

Posts directed to Vanessa

The Arm Never Grows Back

/ Daddy

Dear Vanessa,

Last month was two years.

I didn’t do anything special for it. I don’t even know how to mark the day. It’s kind of weird we don’t have a word for the anniversary of someone’s death.

Or do we?

Jewish people have a word. It’s called Yahrzeit. But that’s it. I googled. No actual universal word for it. That’s weird.

I was going to post something sappy and upload it to Instagram because when I upload stuff to Instagram people buy the book. But in the end I didn’t do that. Not out of shame or anything like that. I just didn’t want to.

I was thinking about it though. I have said in the book multiple times that people don’t get to grieve the way they want.

For example. If I wanted to live stream myself crying at your gravestone and upload that to Instagram, I should be able to do that without being judged.

But people would judge it. They would think it’s cringe. Or self-absorbed. Or maybe even a little bit gross because in the end I’m posting so people will buy my book.

I think those people should go fuck themselves.

You are dead. If I want to be self-absorbed I should get to do that as long as I’m not hurting myself or anybody else.

But that’s not how it works.

So am I doing better after two years?

What does better mean?

If I chop off my arm, the arm never grows back. I’m never happy that I’m missing an arm. But I do get used to it.

Like, I’m not taking seven lorazepams a day. It would be disingenuous to say I’m in the same place I was when you died.

I’m taking things “day by day.” “One step at a time.” All of that cliche bullshit.

However, they are cliche for a reason.

They are cliche because those sayings work.

I know this because I’m still here.

Besitos,

Michael


When Mommy Means I Miss You

/ Daddy

Dear Vanessa,

I wrote a letter in the book about how when Luciana called your mother Mommy, I felt a certain way about it. Well, that was over six months ago at this point. Although it feels like yesterday. Time has no meaning after you died.

Luciana says Mommy all the time now. She has called me Mommy. She has called your mother Mommy. Even random people get called Mommy.

I finally figured out what she is saying.

When she calls someone Mommy, it is usually when she is upset. It is usually what happens when someone is leaving. When she calls someone Mommy, it means I miss you.

I hate it.

Before you call me a Grinch, I am allowed to hate it. I know it might seem cute. I know some people might think it is a connection to you.

Nope.

I hate it.

I want you to be Mommy. I do not want Mommy to mean me, or your mother, or some sweet little toddler translation into something meaningful and profound.

I want Mommy to mean you. And only you.

Does that make me cranky? Probably.

I am not going to correct her. I have learned that lesson. But I will nudge her in the right direction. I will continuously give her positive reinforcement when you are called Mommy.

You will always be Mommy. No matter how cute the alternative is.

Besitos,

Michael

Catnip for 6 Year Olds

/ Daddy

Dear Vanessa,

This is proof that Luciana got your genes. She is such an extrovert. We were at the indoor playground and she becomes friends with literally everyone. I swear she is catnip for 6 year olds.

She had been playing with this one kid for over an hour when they wanted to go play in the big part of the playground. The 6 year old asked me if she could take her on her own.

Immediately my insides started to retract into a tiny ball of anxiety.

Luciana is about to turn three. I had all the exit doors blocked. What’s the worst that can happen? She goes play by herself with a random friend. For the first time ever.

Don’t tell me the answer.

They were gone for maybe 10 minutes. It felt like 10 years.

She came back. No bruises. Still happy. Pretty sure she hadn’t licked the floor or anything like that. Yay?

Boooooooooo!

Where is the stop clock? When you died she could only crawl backwards. Now she has made more friends in one day than I have in the past decade.

You’d be proud.

Besitos,

Michael

One Ear at a Time

/ Daddy

Dear Vanessa,

I’m always going to remember when Luciana got her ears pierced for a very unusual reason. Her right ear was pierced before you died, and the left ear was pierced afterward.

We went at 9 months because if we waited any longer the doctor said you should wait until 4 years or they will pull at the earring. Nobody in my family got their ears pierced that young, but I knew everyone in your family did. So even if I felt weird about it I wasn’t going to say anything.

After the first time it was done I almost fainted. We all said it looked perfect. But I noticed the left ear was a centimeter off.

The doctor was confident that if we take the earring out and wait 3 weeks the ear will heal. The ear did heal. I did not.

Going back there with one earring and no mommy was so surreal. I can’t even imagine what the doctor was thinking. Part of the reason the earring was off the first time was because I didn’t hold her down hard enough and she was very squirmy.

I bear hugged her this time. The snap of the earring machine went. Luciana cried for maybe 10 seconds. Your mother and I cried for the whole car ride home.

You were so meticulous cleaning her ear. There was no way she was going to get an infection. It was one of the first realizations that I no longer have you to help me with these types of things. It was all on me.

And it’s still all on me.

Besitos,

Michael