My mom reached over and put her hand on my wrist. “I couldn’t be prouder,” she said. “Of who you’ve become. Of who you’re letting God make you.” She swallowed. “Your sister would be insufferable about it all.”
We laughed, but she was right. I could picture it vividly, and it didn’t make me sad either. I smile at the thought, knowing I’d get to see her again one day, and I’d get to catch her up on everything she’s missed. I think about how much more I still want to do for her before I see her again, too.
Later, my dad made me come into the garage with him, wiped his hands on a rag, and leaned against the workbench. The garage has always been his confessional. “I’ve been angry a long time,” he said. He didn’t say Grayson’s name, didn’t have to. “Athim, at the world, at God, at myself.” He breathed out a long sigh. “Watching you change how you hold all of this…I want that. I don’t want to carry the anger anymore.”
We didn’t hug, cause the men in this family aren’t big huggers. But his shoulder bumped mine on purpose, and it was more meaningful than words or a physical embrace.
I visited the cemetery too many times to count, just to feel closer to her, to talk to her, even though I didn’t know if she could hear me…maybe just hoping God would relay the message to her for me.
The church near campus had become my second home during the last year at college, and I kept the rhythm in the summer with a church near my parents’ place. I’m not a good churchy person, but I like rooms where people pray their real feelings, and keep it raw. A place where we all know we don’t have all of the answers, but we all have at least one.
I couldn’t help but text Sandro not long after break started. My mind wouldn’t rest until I knew something,anything. He told me she flew back home to Charlotte and was starting a program, and didn’t know if she’d be back this fall or not. That’s all he was told by his sister. It wasn’t much, but it gave me some peace, something to put in my prayers.
I’m not a mystic, but there were days I’d be at my dad’s workbench, tightening a bolt and feel something cold and heavy slide through me for no reason, like a crashing wave. It sounds ridiculous to say I could feel her bad days. Maybe I couldn’t. Maybe I was just thinking about her too much. Some days, the feeling moved on. Some days it sat with me until I got tired.
By August, home had shifted in small ways. My parents weren’t different people, and I wasn’t either. We just weren’t pretending to be the old ones anymore. That was enough.
* * *
The first day back on campus felt…different. Every year, I would come here as an escape. This year felt like I was coming here with a purpose bigger than myself, but stillformyself, for my growth.
“Senior year, baby,” Erik said, bumping my shoulder as we unloaded stuff back into our dorm.
“Don’t say it out loud,” I said, laughing. “It’ll hear you.”
I set up for my Clinical Practicum seminar with Dr. Alvarez.
“This semester,” he said, “you’ll each be at a site eight to ten hours a week. You’ll co-facilitate or shadow in pairs if needed.”
He gave us the full assignment rundown all about boundaries, supervision, confidentiality, what we could and couldn’t do, and what we should never try to do alone. He reminded us that if we weren’t in therapy ourselves yet, we’d need to start by October to fulfill the requirement for our course.
I held my envelope while he went around the circle, everybody tearing theirs and making faces.Children’s grief camp.Veterans’ peer group.Court-mandated anger management.Campus counseling front desk triage. When I opened mine, I sawCampus Recovery Communitytyped out, and under it—Group co-facilitator. There was a list of what we would have to do—weekly group, office hours for drop-ins, one-on-ones with supervision, midterm reflection, and final case formulation. Basically just diving into all the problems and coming up with all the solutions we can think of.
I let out a breath. I’d been secretly hoping for the suicide loss support group, but those slots are rare. This CRC group still felt right and a little terrifying. Something I feel like I can relate to and connect on a personal level since I’ve had my own struggles.
On break, I went up to Dr. Alvarez’s desk and waited until the cluster of students thinned. “Hey,” I greeted, and he looked up like he’d been expecting me.
“Recovery community,” he says, nodding. “You’ll be good there.”
“I hope so,” I say. “Uh—if anything opens up with the suicide loss group this semester or next, could you keep my name on a list?” I clear my throat. “I just…I’m interested.”
He studies my face the way he does with everyone, not prying, notnotprying. “I can do that,” he says. “I’ll also wanna talk about if this is readiness and a good placement for you, not just interest.” He gestures vaguely at the air. “Your reasons are your reasons. In here, we’ll make sure they’re not the only thing you look at, though.”
“Fair,” I say. “Thank you.”
When class let out, Erik and I met Mason at the student union grill. We hadn’t had a day all together like that in a while.
Mason has that preseason look, all tired, wired, and hopeful for the new season. “They’re gonna start me and Chase this year,” he says, trying to shrug like it wasn’t lighting up his whole face. “Coach says we’ve earned it, but that could mean two quarters or two games, so I’m not getting cocky.”
“You better,” Erik tells him. “You’ve been working like a dog all summer. I want to see you bully them on that field.”
Mason grins. “You coming to the first home game?”
“I’m there,” I say. “Sign me up for screaming so loud that your mom gets flashbacks of our time together.”
Mason punches me in the shoulder, and Erik doubles over laughing.
We ate and talked about classes, about Erik’s professors that were already making him twitch with assignments, about the dumb roommate we have across the hall who keeps microwaving fish, about the girl who’s been ignoring Erik for a full year now, about Masonnotbeing in love with his ‘friend’ Simone—Lydia’s friend—and all our plans coming up. We got through a lot of fries and a little bit of catching up on life.
