Thursday, December 29, 2016


The people at Starbucks keep writing your name on my coffee cups.
I've become a person who looks for signs, and every time your name ends up on my coffee cup, I tell myself that you're doing okay.
That you're safe.

I keep on hoping this is temporary. That you'll come back, and one day we'll look back at all of this and marvel how somehow something so awful will have ended so supremely well.

I'm writing the happy ending for you when your name shows up on my coffee cups. When someone mentions something you love. When something happens and I want to text you about it. When something reminds me of you. Once upon a time there was a C, who had to go on an epic quest and had to fight the dark. Which obviously was a lot more complicated than it first looked, because the dark is tricky like that.

And after all sorts of dramatic happenings, the dragons were vanquished, and you found a princess with a heart of gold and a will of iron and enough love to blanket the whole world over. I'm writing a happy ending for you, because I cannot possibly imagine an alternate ending to this. I'm writing a happy ending for you the same way I asked you to write a happy ending for yourself.

I still want you to write your own happy ending. Write it as many times as you need to until you believe in it.

I miss you.


Sending you love

The holiday season is a lot less happy with you gone. In one sense I'm so glad 2016 is almost over with all the pain it's caused. On the other hand, it feels wrong to start a new year without you. My only comfort is hoping that somewhere you're surrounded by love and warmth, and that 2017 will be a year of hope.

I know what I'll be hoping for. To see you again, to have you back, to have this all be a bad dream.

My birthday was this week, and my wish went to you. As I blew out the candles, I wished for your safety, your happiness, and (selfishly) your return.

Happy New Year, C. Sending you a big hug and all my love.


Wednesday, December 7, 2016


This doesn't get any easier, and that makes me hurt for you, for I know it's worse on you, C. I'm clinging to the hope that you're safe and okay. I'm choosing to believe that this is temporary and that you haven't been ripped away from us and yourself forever, but that doesn't make it any easier when I can't talk to you.

But I love you and miss you and hope you know I'm thinking of you.