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“Good, grab that tray, will you?I was about to head out to the living room with more snacks.”
“Sure thing,” I say, grabbing the tray she gestured toward and following her into the living room.
The baby shower isn’t as painful as I thought it would be.There are moments that are bittersweet, and more than once I can’t stop myself from wondering what my baby shower would’ve been like.That thought leads to a slippery slope of what woulds—something that happens after such a life-changing loss.
What would my baby look like if I’d had it?Would he or she take after me or Robbie?What would life be like if Robbie had lived?
What ifs and what woulds are dangerous places to live in.Like quicksand, they look harmless enough, but they’ll suck you into an abyss you can’t escape from, a mental prison that will make life unbearable.
I’ve learned it’s better for my sanity and mental health if I focus on the here and now and what is, even if that’s easier said than done.It’s also made me appreciate things in a way I never did before.If there’s a silver lining to grief and loss, maybe that’s it.I don’t take anything for granted anymore because I know how quickly it can all go away.
Eventually, the party starts to wind down, and my mom makes an excuse for us to leave while others stay and mingle.
“Your dad dropped me off, so can I get a ride with you?”
I give a side glance to my mom.“You planned this, didn’t you?”
She smiles and says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
With a light laugh, I say, “Oh, I’m sure.”
Shaking my head, I unlock the car, we both get in, and then I head toward their house.My parents moved to California after Robbie died.They sold the house they’d lived in for the last ten years outside of Austin, Texas, in order to be closer to me.My mom told me a few months ago she couldn’t bear the idea of her baby girl being alone.
I wasn’t exactly alone—Tristan and the rest of my RI family were constantly checking on me—but it was a huge relief to have my mom there, especially after the baby.Sometimes you just need your mom, no matter how old you are.
“Did you see my text about the photography show at that little gallery you love in San Bernadino?”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“And?”she asks.I don’t have to look at her to know anticipation and hope are written all over her face.
I’ve been into photography since I got my first camera for my photography class in high school.I needed an elective and didn’t want to take a regular art class.Photography seemed interesting, so I thought I’d give it a try.The moment I held my camera in my hands and looked at the world through my lens, I was hooked.From then on, I always had my camera with me, capturing the world around me and falling in love with the art form more every day.When Trent, the lead singer of Rapturous Intent, the band Robbie managed, asked me to be their tour photographer, I freaked.It gave me an excuse to go on the road when Robbie went and the opportunity to make a career out of the hobby I loved.
My mom has been trying for months to encourage me to submit a portfolio to a local gallery—something I’ve always wanted to do—in the hopes it might relight my passion for it, but I can’t work up the energy.
Every time I look at my camera, I see all the memories I’ve captured with it, almost all of them with Robbie, and I can’t do it.
“I’m not ready yet,” I tell her.
She doesn’t say anything, but I can sense her disappointment, even if I’m too chicken to look at her to confirm it.Disappointing my mom is the last thing I want to do, but I’m still figuring out this new chapter of my life without Robbie, and it’s hard enough without adding more pressure.
What if my photos aren’t good enough?
I don’t think I could take that kind of rejection right now.
“Give me a few more months.Someday I’ll be ready, Mom.”
“I know, sweetie.I just don’t want to see you putting your life on hold.”
I know she doesn’t mean for her words to hurt, but they do, mainly because I know she’s right.I know someday I’m going to have to start putting myself out there again.
Someday, but not yet.
