It’s like trying out for a team or the lead in a play. You worry and worry and dread the moment. The anxiety consumes you.
“Will I be good enough?”
“Will I choke?”
“What’s it going to be like?”
“What could happen that I’m not expecting?”
And then the day arrives, and passes, and all is ok.
For nearly a month I’ve dreaded the two-year anniversary of Lisa’s diagnosis. The memory of that moment in time that changed our lives. I worried about how I’d respond. I became consumed with sad thoughts. I reverted back to the dark places that can haunt you with grief.
And the day came – and it was tough. But it passed. And on Monday, at Water Country USA, with Jesse, DJ and friend and Michelle, I began to see the sun again. And today, I cranked open the car windows, all four of them, and the sunroof, and turned the volume of my stereo as loud as it would go and I sang with all my might. A woman with big hair in the car next to me looked my way – I”m sure she thought, “What’s up with that guy?”
And I thought of Lisa – but they were happy thoughts. Thoughts of her cracking up when I sang all the words to rap songs on the way to Target. Thoughts of her singing in the passenger seat not knowing that I was hanging on every word. And I didn’t cry. And I could breath again.