Remember that car game we used to play? I remember arguing over who got Michelle because she would obviously be such a ringer. I hope she's doing well these days.
Anyhow all that feels a lot more real lately. I have spent so much time the last few years trying to build the kinds of webs and nets that you always did with people. I imagine you still do that. I was so grateful to be a thread in your chosen family, but I think I still took it for granted. It's such hard work, and I have seen that more and more clearly the last 7 years. I keep thinking I'm at that place with people and then they decide to buy a house and move in with their girlfriend instead of investing in our commune, and I get my feelings hurt, because it feels bad to be the person who's more invested, turns out.
This whole hell of a year. I wonder so often how you're doing. We've been doing occasional careful emails or texts but it's been since May that I heard from you and my Lord, this summer. But it's your turn to email and your turn to text, and I am trying to be good to you now in the only way I can be, which has seemed to me to be mostly keeping my distance. Letting you come closer if you want to. Like a scared kicked dog. Not a completely inappropriate image.
Anyhow, there have been some hangups in trying to weave a chosen family as a hard introvert / thoughtless human in my late 30s, but I am slowly getting there I think. I make it more of a point to be explicit with people about that. To make it clear that I am asking them and inviting them into something that is very real and consequential to me. I don't think most of them want to be on that page with me, but some of them do.
I was remembering recently about one of those nights with Jenny, early on. I think she had just gotten hurt or broken up with or maybe was just too drunk. I remember you holding her on our couch and cradling her head on your lap while she cried and telling her that this was how it would be now, that she was just family and that was all there was to it.
I know we both thought there was no way we would end our relationship without continuing to be with each other. I remember you making me promise not to "Amber N--" you. And our foolish matching tattoo agreement. Turned out we were both wrong about that. Turned out I could hurt you more than I could ever have imagined being able to hurt anyone. I would have killed anyone who had hurt you like that.
I was talking with some friends recently (outside, on the patio, from a distance) about relationships and a few of them were commiserating about being the person who gets letters after the breakup where the other party thanks them for teaching them so much, and apologizes for not learning all that sooner. And one of our other friends was like, wow, that's unbelievable, those people are the worst. And I was like, yeah, that was me.
That thought deserves its own separate entry in this blog you'll never read, but it's true. I think it every time I think of you, which is still often, after all these years. How much you taught me. How immensely grateful I am to have learned it at all. How lucky I am to have learned it at all. How much I wish, how much I would give, to have learned it before I met you.
This is all to say, it's really looking like apocalypse times now. You are still one of the people I would worry about the most, would most want to be safe, to be well. You're still one of the people I would want on my team. I wonder about what would happen in those circumstances. If I knocked on your door in the upcoming apocalypse, would you come with me?
And then I realize it wouldn't matter, because I know your web of chosen family is deeper and broader and stronger than anything I could ever build, and those people will keep you more well than I could, and probably if I ever knocked on your door one of them would meet me with a shotgun.
I miss you. It's wild to think about how long it's been, and that missing is still so fresh. Amanda, I am wanting every good thing for you. I am always wanting that. I hope, whatever happens next...
I don't want to say I hope you'll be safe. None of us will be safe, and you and I have enjoyed our safety on the backs of so many others for so long. But I do want safety for all of us, and especially for you.
I don't want to say I hope you won't be alone, because I can't imagine that you would be, and it seems like even saying that would disrespect the sort of person that I know, that I used to know, you are. But I do want community and support for all of us, and especially for you.
I guess it's just a selfish thing. My heart hurts, to think of you hurting. I hope there is a balm for all of us, somewhere in all this. And especially for you.
I miss you. I love you. Hang in there.