Things I Hope You Know

“No man is an island,” that’s what you used to say to me. No one person is in isolation, and we are all interconnected. We are the summation of everyone who has been in our lives, the good and the bad, and I find myself looking at my life now after all this time, observing the echoes of your influence. That although you’re gone, your memories remain in the habits I do and the way I see the world. In how I contribute to the world. And there are so many things that I hope you know.

I hope you know that anytime I see Buffalo Bayou, I think of you. I explain the intricacies of the unhoused crisis to anyone who will listen, and I proudly tell everyone about the work you used to do for them. I hope you know that chapter with you helped change the way I see people and how I empathize with them.

I hope you know that I no longer kill plants. What was once a graveyard of fiddle-leaf figs and wilting Aglaonema’s is now a menagerie of pathos and elephant ears and zz plants that have spread beyond the confines of my dining room to every room of the house. I can’t go to Home Depot to get a power tool without grabbing a plant in the process. Some of them have outgrown their pots, much like me. I care for them and run my fingers through their roots like you taught me.

I hope you know that your cat still perches in her usual spots. She still sleeps by my head, and every morning I nibble her toe beans from her little “peets” she dangles from the perch. I hope you know that everyone still thinks she’s the most beautiful cat in the world despite the fact that she looks like a goblin. Yes, she still looks like a one.

I hope you know that my house is alive with the sounds of clattering paws and squeaks like it once was. The anxious energy of a dog rips through the morning air, without fail, demanding all my attention. I hope you know I still shout “kibble time!” and the pets run to their stations just as they always have. I hope you know that I still run the food scooper down Donner’s back and give him exactly TWO pats on the butt with it like we used to do with Blitz. I look into his eyes sometimes and think God sent me our boy back as a puppy, so I can try again and be better… so I do all the things with him I should have done with our boy… the walks, the treats, the training, the adventures.

I hope you know I have the courage to adventure alone. I’ve been to SO many places, from sleeping in a tent on a remote island to walking in the fields with elk. I hope you know I took the vacation hours I’ve been hoarding, the ones you used to hound me about never taking… I hope you know I’ve set boundaries with work and volunteering, so I can spend more time being present with myself. I hope you know that I laughed, smiled, and danced all alone… without an audience to perform to except the deer and the trees.

I hope you know I still use the skin products you use, maybe just out of habit. But I promise I still have absolutely no idea what I am doing with them.

I hope you know my stomach does flip-flops every time I drive past Bellfort on the Beltway. That I can’t order queso at Torchy’s anymore. That I still do “Steak Salad Sundays” and reset myself with “Meatless Mondays.” I hope you know I cook all the time, and I finally organized my spice cabinet so it’s not an anxiety-inducing hellscape. I still eat cereal damn near every night, but I hope that you know that will never change. Nor will the fact that any bag of M&M’s will not stand a chance of surviving longer than two days in my house.

I hope you know that I was brave. That when the Hill Country Floods decimated the land and hearts of Texas, I put aside my own heartache to help those in need. That amongst the piles of debris that stretched feet above me, that I stood taller. That through the darkest moment of my own life, I led men and women… that although my heart was broken, I had the capacity to love perfect strangers… but you and I both know I’ve always been that way. That no amount of pain can take away my compassion. I hope you know that courage is contagious, and when you surround yourself with people who are also scared but brave, somehow you don’t feel so alone. And that in and of itself gives you all the courage you need. I hope you know we all made it to the other side. I hope you’ve surrounded yourself with brave people, too.

I hope you know that I wake up at 0630 every morning without fail… sometimes even earlier. Heck, I think my feet hit the floor before yours do most days now. I greet the day with a smile, watch the sunrise, take my vitamins, go for a walk, and prioritize my self-care… I guard it with my life. That I treat my body with kindness, and I spend more money on fashion than truck parts.

I hope that you know that when the 7th inning stretch happens at the Astros games, I proudly stand and belt all the lyrics to “Deep In The Heart Of Texas.”

That I started playing music again…

That I FINALLY finished that room I worked on for so long after curating every single piece of it…

That I finally got rid of my ever-expanding t-shirt collection…

I hope you know I smiled a lot while I died inside.

I hope you know my grandma still asks about you in the fondest of tones. I hope you know my family still thinks of you, loves you, and prays for you all the time. I hope you know I worry about your sister in this polarizing climate. That I would beat the blocks off anybody who ever laid a hand on her, but that I’m now afraid to hold a woman’s hand in public when I was so brave to do so before.

I hope you know that all the best things about me are still me. That life hasn’t made me cruel. I hope you know that I never gave up, even when I wanted to. That I never gave up hope.

I hope you know that I found happiness. I hope you know that I didn’t “go scorched earth” on my life as you begged me not to do, that I stood my ground and took all that pain like a champ. That I didn’t run away like a coward… that I stood in this mess you made. That while you scorched our world, I stood in the flames in defiance… refusing to run from hard things. My feet planted firmly in the ashes.

I hope you know that I stand up for myself now when it counts. Not in groups of people… not for injustice… those are easy. No, I stand up for myself now even when it’s against the people I love the most… including people like you. That I won’t accept less than what I deserve. That I gave a voice to my needs and I state them so matter-of-factly.

I hope you know that I no longer hate you, but I will admit there was a time in which I did…

I hope that you know that I got to meet my hero. That I got to stand across from her as her equal and talk to her like a human being. I hope that you know that she’s just as down-to-earth and bold as she portrays herself to be. I hope you know that eventually I became my own hero.

I hope that you know that I still care about you. I hope that you know that I still miss you… your wisdom, your pouting, your silly little faces, and the goofiness you never show the world. That I haven’t been silly with someone in who knows how long.

I hope you know I did all these things for me, not you. I hope that you know that while you didn’t believe in me, I never stopped believing in you.

…And I sure as hell never stopped believing in me…

I hope you read this, but you probably never will. But even then, I hope you know these things deep down inside you. I hope you know that I’ll never forget you…

And, most importantly, I hope you know that I forgive you.