Page 3 of Played
I don’t have anything to say.
Except.
Except I miss you. I miss you like fucking crazy, sweetheart.
And I need you.
August 8
Dear Kendra,
Last night I dreamed about you.
It was so real. You still wore that peaches and cream body lotion. Your voice, smile, touch—they all were the same. And even though I was holding you again, talking to you again, a part of me knew that it was a dream. That I had to take advantage of this time with you while I had it. But even knowing that, I woke up reaching for you. And the pain of patting those cold, empty sheets sent pain through me all over again. As sharp as if you’ve been gone two days instead of two years. I lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to move. Like the pain, the grief were physical weights pressing me into the mattress, smothering me.
For a moment, Kendra, I thought the unthinkable.
I wanted to follow you.
Shit, I can only admit this here, to you.
I haven’t had those thoughts since the days right after you left. Why is it so hard for me to say “died”? I can’t. Even years later, I can’t say it out loud. Because it makes you being gone so fucking final. As if death isn’t. And yet, I haven’t said it in two whole goddamn years.
Which makes no fucking sense, right? If I want to follow you there, I should have the balls to say the words. I can hear you cursing me out for even thinking about it. You were always the bravest out of the two of us. I might fuck people up on the ice for a living but you? You were the one who was fearless, rushing into life, enjoying the hell out of it. Forcing me to go along for the ride.
I can’t fucking do this without you, Kendra. I don’t want to.
But we have Khalil.
He’s my lifeline, my saving grace. I hate to put that kind of pressure on a five-year-old kid, but I swear, if it wasn’t for him, I don’t know ...
Sometimes I believe ... Shit, I feel ridiculous for even saying this. But sometimes I believe you somehow knew you wouldn’t be here, so you gifted me with him. I will always have a piece of you here as long as I have him.
Yeah, I’m done after that.
I’m out.
August 21
It’s been a minute, Kendra.
Not because I forgot about you. But because I can’t stop thinking about you. And this—writing to you like you’re sitting in the other room—started to become too hard. But maybe that’s the therapist’s point? Forcing me to talk? To purge myself? Shit. It feels more like bloodletting.
Khalil talked about you today, which prompted me to pick up this journal again. When I was fixing breakfast, he told me that I don’t fix his pancakes like you do. Whipped cream smiley face with chocolate chip eyes. He didn’t tell me before because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Isn’t that funny? And sad.
I’m the parent but he’s worried about hurting me?
I’m fucking up, Kendra. In that moment, it hit me harder than it ever has before that you pulled the weight in this family. You were the heart of it. Youwere the light in it. And sweetheart, it’s been so damn dark without you. I’m trying to keep it together for Khalil, give us a new normal. I even have him seeing a child therapist now so he’s not as fucked up as I am. Forget what Jesus would do. I ask myself what would Kendra do, and I try and get it done.
Speaking of Jesus, your mom is on me about that. About going to church with them, saying you loved it and would be disappointed knowing me and Khalil weren’t going. I told her she could take Khalil because a part of me knows she’s right about that. Hell, I remember you promising me Sunday morning pussy if I’d go with you. And when I wasn’t on the road, I did. More because you had fire pussy than a sermon, though. Don’t suck your teeth at me. And Solomon, my ass. We both know it’s true.
Now, though? I would be a hypocrite if I stepped inside a church. Shit, I’m likely to flip a pew than pray. Pray to who? A God who would take away my peace, my joy? A God who would take away the love of my life? A God who obviously enjoys suffering over love? Nah. I ain’t got nothing for Him. But if I tell your mother that, she’d fall the fuck out.
So I’ma keep my mouth shut.
I got to go, sweetheart. If I don’t get in there and read your son his story, he’s going to raise hell. At least that hasn’t changed.
Love you, Kendra. Always and forever.
