Graduation.

A blur of a day.
When did it start? When did it end?

Feet slipping into red wedges. Hair curled. Make-up done. Gown zipped, hat secured. Tassle set.

Walking down the aisle.
Don't cry. Don't cry.
Fake smile. Don't cry.

Name called. Applause so loud, it's surprising. Lips tremble as I bite back the tears. The walk across the stage--fake smile, don't trip--it seems to last forever.

"Micah Josef Berthold." Soon his name echoes from the microphone and bounces off the walls, and the auditorium becomes instantly hushed. Josef walks on stage, toward the empty chair--applause so loud, standing ovation, tears welling up inside--Micah's cap now on his dad's head. Who would have thought it'd be this way? That his father would gently fill his place? I squint my eyes, and for a fleeting second Micah is there, wearing that hat---maybe he is in a wheelchair, and maybe we are cheering for the triumph of his survival of the accident. Maybe he is damaged, but he is still there, laughing and energetic as ever, handsome and beaming in his gown. But no, he is quickly lost in the sea of caps, and soon I am back to reality, and we are only cheering for his absence, the void. And there's nothing else we can do.

Walk back out, quickly grab the hands of my second family that is sitting in the first row, see the pain in their eyes as I glide by. "I wish it wasn't this way" that look says. "I'm sorry he is not here." "I'm sorry it's so wrong."...We both know. That look says a thousand words.

Later, Josef gives me two kisses, "one from me" and "one from Micah." "Micah's" kiss seems to linger on my cheek throughout the afternoon; I can feel it sitting there and it makes me happy.

And soon, Micah's cap is in my hands: 3--2--1--and it flings into the sky, black against the clouds, spinning and twirling in a chaos of wind, until it falls onto the ground, still.

And the day is over, and I can't go back, and it is a harmony of good and bad; tears and laughter, hate and love; my "bittersweet symphony" continues late into the early hours of the morning.

"I'm so proud of you," Micah said to me when he saw my straight-A report card several months ago.

I'm so proud of you.
I know you're proud of me today. I can hear you saying it.

But please know I am so, so proud of you as well. Look how far we've come, and look how far we have yet to go together.

Pre-Grad.

Micah, this is so wrong. You know it, I know it; we both know it.

Tomorrow is graduation. And your chair has become "the" chair, the empty one, the one that everyone looks at, and pities, yet still don't understand. Because it's you--that's your chair...it's not supposed to be empty. Do people realize that? Is anyone else freaking out and yelling at the world that this is not fair?

Tomorrow I will walk across the stage, but somehow you won't be there. You won't catch my gaze across the room. I won't hear your whoops and hollers. We won't share an excited hug. We won't get a picture together. You won't throw your hat into the sky.

I was so looking forward to sharing this day together.

I hate how its one of the last planned events of us together.
I hate how its the first of many separators--now I'll graduate, but you never will, at least officially.
I hate how your family has to sit in a room packed with happy, cheesy parents, who are oogling at their "babies growing up."
I hate how every speaker talks of future dreams, when all of mine seemed to be with you.
I hate how everyone is "moved on," but everything to me is still as fresh as if I'm by your side, in the hospital, during those long days.
I hate how your facebook says "no reply" to my grad party...

I hate that you're not here. I hate it. But I love you so, so much and I know you'd be proud of me for "sticking with it."

Germany.

This winter, Micah and I; and his two younger brothers, flew to Germany for a week. Often my mind wanders back to that trip. Those 7 days were magical. What could be better than flying to Europe with your amazing boyfriend, 18 years old, no care in the world, with no parents, no schedule except to hang out and explore? Talk about perfect. Now, those days feel even more magical...they are the epitome of the happiness of Micah and I, our love at its peak. They feel frozen in my mind, like some happy polaroid picture-moment; so distantly-dreamy and ironically-perfect.

I'm so grateful for that week. It was worth every penny, even though I had to work one long winter to get the money. How perfect that I got to meet his German family; to see where he grew up; to walk the halls where his padded little baby feet ran. To spend time with Dominik and Jeremy, and create inside jokes we still talk about to this day. To spend cherished time with Micah---to get a taste of what it would have been like to maybe travel back one day with a "real" family of our own.

At nighttime, after our daily adventures, Micah would whisper to me before he went to his own bed upstairs that he would "pay me a visit." It was always a thrill. I would pull on my pajamas and my thick socks--(German houses are so cold!)--and then wait. Sure enough, 20 minutes later, I could hear Micah's footsteps coming closer, and I knew he was on the way. He would sneakily tip-toe down three flights of stairs, past Oma and Opa sleeping, and find my little makeshift bedroom in the basement. Then he would come and sit on my bed, and we'd talk about the day; sometimes analyze his family and how things were going. He'd tell me how much of a trooper I was, or apologize if I was bored. (Of course I was never bored! I'd say.) Then, Micah would give me a hug and a huge kiss; tuck me into bed; and shut the door and begin his thrilling sneak back up the stairs. I always had happy dreams afterwards--always. :)

One night, Micah accidentally fell asleep when he said he'd visit me. I remember waiting and waiting, and finally falling asleep myself. In the morning, he apologized again and again, but I told him it really was ok. However, I think we both knew we were disappointed--we both cherished those moments so much, so to even lose one night was disappointing.

In the morning, Micah was my alarm clock. He'd sneak back downstairs to my room, and wake me up in some theatrical way. Sometimes the best way was throwing something at me, of course, or completely jumping on top of me (only Micah knew how bad jet-lag got to me). Then some ways were more loving; and he'd sweetly stroke my hair, or lay next to me and sleep for a little bit himself.

I loved mornings. Once it was guaranteed I was awake, and my alarm clock went back upstairs, I'd get dressed, then wander upstairs myself. Breakfast was always ready--I felt like a queen. Hot coffee in endless supply; warm bread, with salty meat and cheese. Oma was always ready to feed me!--she was always so giving and loving. Then I'd look out the window, and there was Germany in its full winter glory...rolling fog, snow blanketing the fields, frost clinging to the trees. A beauty I wish I had words to describe.

One morning, Micah and I decided to take a morning jog. It was so stupid of us! It was way below freezing, but we ended up running for about 25 minutes. Eventually we had to give in and come back inside--our legs were completely numb. Of course, I remember secretly complaining in my head--I was so out of shape and in so much pain! Micah kept pushing me and wanted to go at a faster pace. Actually, when I think about it, I think we both ended up walking, out of exhaustion. Maybe all that German food was getting to us. :)

Other memories...
A New Year's kiss, outside, with fireworks flying around EVERYWHERE!
Being set free in Munich to explore, just the two of us.
Swimming in a giant indoor pool, and Micah carrying me on his back.
Getting the giggles during a Catholic church service.
Somehow not getting tired of each other on the 9 hour plane ride, both ways.
Chipping my tooth biting into a hot dog.
Holding hands under the table during supper.
Laying on a big bed with Dominik, Jeremy, and Micah, all squished together and cuddled under blankets, watching an Eagles game in the US, through skype.
Waving goodbye to Opa in the airport, not knowing it would be the last time he'd see Micah...


Memories like these make me so happy. I'm feeling tears right now as I truly think about what's happened, but for now these memories will help suppress them. Germany was a beautiful, magical time and I will never forget the laughter, excitement, and love in those few days, thousands of miles away from home.

Beginning.

Micah died. Micah died. Micah died.

I write those words over and over again, but somehow they don't seem true. They don't register. They don't make sense. I hate them. They roll off my brain and refuse to stick; refuse to settle. Instead, they sit at the tip of my tongue, ready to be spit out, as if that would make everything go away. Make everything disappear and bring my normal, happy life back.

I am starting this blog hoping that it will bring some clarity. To both myself and others. It's been such a long, long month and everyone asks me how I'm doing. "How are you doing?" Well. Hmm. Let's see. I'm sorry that answer couldn't be obvious enough. My boyfriend just died, actually. So actually, I'm doing pretty terrible. Actually, some days are so difficult to get out of bed that my mom has to sit beside me for 20 minutes. Actually, this is as close to hell as I could ever imagine. Does that answer your question?

Truthfully, this blog is how I'm doing.

Sometimes I'm good. Sometimes I'm bad. Actually, I'm always bad, but sometimes its a good-bad, or at least an ok-bad. Sometimes I laugh; sometimes I cry. Sometimes I laugh-cry, or cry-laugh. It truly depends on the second.

So bear with me as I start this.

And on a final note, today (would be?) is our 1 year, 8 months anniversary of dating. We rock. I love you Micah!