A few weeks ago, a mutual friend of ours from high school+beyond tragically passed away.

She was the brightest light, and also happened to be the needle whose humanity threaded the very start of mine and Anne’s romantic relationship. Neither one of us, now together as Kitzelmanns, have put down the sadness and pain that comes from grief. In the ways only grim and heartbreaking circumstances can, we are forcibly seeing the world through a new lens, which brings with it, an alternate kind of light.

I imagine what she would have said, or how she would have felt, if she had been allowed to stay here with all of those who have loved, and do love her, so deeply. I cannot stop thinking about her family, oh my goodness her family, her close friends, and honestly her entire community of people whose lives she undoubtedly brightened each and every day. Obviously I cannot begin to capture all of the things I wish I could have shared with her in our brief, but often hilarious exchanges, that took place throughout our adult lives.

So many things left unsaid in what is now a conversation where I can only hear my side. Oh friend of mine; how I wish I knew a way to tune in to a cosmically-powered radio station where I could still hear your words. If you can show me, we can keep laughing about what rascals we were in our youth together, joining up again across space and time and through the nights while we each complete our versions of sleep…

It can be tricky to write about someone after they pass. Each word carries a new weight, and with it, a new responsibility to do right by their memory. There will be no playing the casual martyr for public consumption, but there will be the honoring of her mighty and special spirit. For me to publicly share nothing about her incredible past+present+future impact on the lives of those that knew her, would be me doing her massive, and beautiful legacy, a disservice. She adored the written word, and more so one spun in to an incredible song. While I am no music maker, I have lassoed together these words using pain as the quill, and my love for her, the ink. This one is for her, as I imagine this new world that no longer has her beating heart on this plane. It’s about one of our favorite subjects we conversed about throughout our stages of adulthood; the mundane challenges of the every-damn-day, stuff:

One of These Days

One of these days, our kid will stop saying "butthole" at school. Then, the phone calls home about their charismatic behavior luring classmates to join in, will be done. 

One of these days, I'll get every adult document necessary filed and submitted on-time and in-full. The insurance forms will be perfect. The estate plan will be complete. The retirement accounts will be rolled over and rolled again, until they land with a thud, hopefully heavy and full, into the account in which they will finally be disbursed without penalty.

One of these days, we'll all three sleep late on purpose and at the same time, in the same space. This will not be because anyone has taken ill, or was up with insomnia, or some rare bout of norovirus that had blanketed the walls in bodily fluids. It will be a peaceful, dream-free sleep, and we will all wander through the following day blissfully unaware of the times where mutual rest felt impossible.

One of these days, someone will invent a fridge that cleans itself. Then, I will no longer need to worry about my genius ability to ignore a container of leftovers for so long, that it creates its own micro-ecosystem. When you open the double-doors to the cold food, things will be fresh and appealing; ready to dive into at a moment's notice. There will be no more flushing with shame over finding the onion dip you made two months ago, because that version of you will be but a distant memory.

One of these days, school work and work-work and life work and soul work, will not be competing for attention, because we will have finally found that elusive balance everyone keeps yammering on about... We'll find out it was real, and wow, I guess that does feel good?

One of these days, I'll remember in the moment that when all of these things are done, what is left to explore? Will it mean my time here is over, because all of the above is a part of being alive and living. Chores never stop. Love waits for no one. Kids will push boundaries as they navigate their safe borders to find out if there are any breaks in the fence.

Spouses and+or friends, will want your attention. You’ll realize this is not an annoyance, but a sign of being ever so deeply loved. For even if you are scrubbing pans or scraping pots, you can do it synched-up, and all the while laughing about how in the weeds you both feel about this, and that, and the other. Because, at least you're in up to your knees, together. One of these days we'll all look up at the trees, breathe in the fresh air, feel the gentle afternoon sun on our faces, and we will turn towards one another and say, "I'm so glad that one of these days, is with you, today".