The end? The beginning?

Dear family, friends, followers,

Next week, the date "April 8" will appear on a calendar for the sixth time since Micah died in 2009. With the sixth year of Micah's anniversary comes the sixth year of this blog.

I began as an 18-year-old trying to make sense of a loss so deep that the world itself seemed to drop out beneath me. Now, I live in that "future without Micah" that was so dark, so unbelievable, and so dreaded to me back then. But day by day for the last six years, that "future" has become my present. My life still unfolds before me with many uncertainties, and I now know much more about the multi-dimensional losses and injustices that make up life. But I am happy, stable, and dream of new things everyday to write or create or discover or love.

Every year or so---usually during these chill April beginnings, when Holy Week reminds me of my own loss to come---my wind wanders back to this blog and I flip to page one. I reread every single post. I find words capturing sadness and pain and yet words that still aren't big enough for the canyon of loss. It hurts. I want to hold my young self and tell her she will be okay, but I can't because I know she has to Go Through It. I know that the Going is what creates the Healing.

This post will be my last post here on Tear Soup. My end here is not a bookend, but rather a mark of the past six years and the outward way I've processed Micah's death. Now, this processing is deeper inside of me. It's like holding a stone in my pocket that only I know about; I can hold its warmth or grasp it when I choose to do so. Now I have more control of my narrative. But I know I'll never lose it.

I'm glad these posts exist because they were heartfelt and real and essential to my processing. I'm glad that many "widowed-girlfriends" have found this and sought solidarity in my words. And I'm very much grateful to the readers who have supported me in various ways.

I promise to keep this page up and will be in touch if I find another platform for my writing.

I dedicate the closure of this blog, of course, to the person who brought me here in the beginning. The person who could make me laugh in a heartbeat, who was wildly compassionate and curious, who was stubborn and gentle all at once, who loved and was loved by his wonderful parents-brothers-grandparents-cousins, who I will remember and love forever because how could I not? Micah:

living memory

I carry you with me into the world,
into the smell of rain
& words that dance between people 

& for me, it will always be this way, 

walking in the light,

remembering being alive together.

Becca

"Rich in loss."

There have been good times.

Living with a wonderful group of women this past year that showed me what it means to have community through food and stories, to support each other through the nitty gritties of the self, even when it’s hard and frustrating.

A final year of college that showed me the joy of spontaneity and goofiness, the destructive but rewarding feeling of stress and no sleep, the joy of a community that has met me where I “am” for the last four years.

Living in Goshen for the summer, working 40 hours and paying rent…feeling like a grown-up but still shedding professionalism after 5 p.m. for the dearest, wildest times with close friends.

Accepting a dream internship next year with Sojourners magazine in Washington, D.C.; knowing I’ll be out my comfort zone and challenged but it will all be in the name of growth.

Getting to know someone this summer who has listened and cared with the deepest respect; the vulnerability and thoughts that come within all of that.

From A Field Guide to Getting Lost :

“Of course to forget the past is to lose the sense of loss that is also memory of an absent richness and a set of clues to navigate the present by; the art is not one of forgetting but letting go. And when everything else is gone, you can be rich in loss.”

Yes, I have not forgotten the past. I remember the richness of the past that was once my present, it is that memory that has propelled me and told me to embrace what is good.

I’ve been rich in my loss. For the art is not of forgetting, but of letting go. These days are good, and that’s to be celebrated.

An update.

It has been a long, long time since my last post.

Since then, I have:
Lived in China for 3 months in the fall, an incredible, meaningful experience full of hundreds of stories.
Declared my major, finally(!) : English Writing.
Turned 21.
Nailed a summer internship at The Intelligencer Journal/Lancaster New Era newspaper company. I'm on my second week now, working full-time as a reporter.
Found out that I'll be the editor-in-chief of my college's newspaper in the fall.
Went on a date, which was part weird, part nice.
Marked the 3rd year of Micah's death in April on Easter Sunday.

This semester has felt slow and uninspiring at times, but in general I am pleased with the momentum gathering in my life and where it's taking me. The years since Micah's death have been in slow-motion...a lot of that due to my need to process my grief, and a lot due to my own development of my identity. Life feels like its picking up again, and I'm at a place where I can embrace that momentum.

Life after college feels terrifying and enticing (I think all good things in life should be made up of some combination of those two feelings.) Luckily I've still got one year to ride this college wave, but knowing how quickly this year went, soon it truly will be over!

This summer will be full of work-work-work with my internship, but also hopefully time for reading, writing, family, camping, the beach, sleeping, and enjoying Lancaster folks.

Hope you are all enjoying where you are and what you are doing. Lots of love your way.

Third summer.

Micah, a third summer without you.

Tonight I just want to sit close to you on the couch, rest my head on your shoulder and talk. Talk to you--you who knows me and loves me and cares--about everything and anything. I want to talk about how your "little" brothers are now freshmen in high school and college. How your dog still barks at the top of your steps. How I visited the cemetery where our great-grandparents are buried recently and how amazing it is that they were friends. I want to talk to you about high school memories and the latest pop music and the messiness of my room and my ridiculous summer jobs.

I want to talk to you about me moving to China in a week to live there for 3 months. I want you to reassure me that it will be okay and you'll send me emails to make me laugh about my Mandarin mistakes. I want to say goodbye to you like the other long-distance relationships and count down the days to seeing you when I get back.

I want to talk about love and jobs and how growing up is the most difficult task in the world. I want to hear your thoughtful advice and then sit in the silence knowing I've been heard.

I want you by my side these days more than ever, Micah, for your love and support and laughter. I know that no longer can be a reality, but it stings again and again as I accept it. You are so deeply missed and remembered.

Circular staircase.

"Acceptance.
I finally reach it.
But something is wrong.
Grief is a circular staircase.
I have lost you."