October 28th
Dear Mom,
I left Nancy and Hank in Wisconsin. By the time I left Hank was playing dinosaur with his grandpa and Nancy and her mother seemed much more at ease. I felt like they'd be okay, but more than that I felt it wasn't my place to continue to take care of them.
I gave Nancy my number and told her to call me if she ever needed help. She smiled at me, actually smiled, and gave me a big hug.
I know she's not just all better out of the blue, and will probably need to seek counseling or something, but that's for her to do.
That reminds me. I called a therapist yesterday. Her name is Althea and we've only had an introductory interview. She has the most calming voice, soothing like the sound of rain. I like her already, though I'm a little scared to dig into the whole “traveling all over the US because I lost my mother” thing.
I wonder if therapists just spend most of their sessions inwardly shaking their heads at the ridiculous things people do when they're in pain or turmoil.
I suspect they become therapists because they see the pain and turmoil and want to help people.
Something tells me Althea will be a good listener, and I'll probably learn a lot about how to handle my trauma and not keep hurting everyone I care about with my decisions.
That's if I keep my appointments with her. I haven't had to keep appointments for months now. It feels like a huge commitment to say I'll talk to one person at a set time and date.
That totally should not be a huge commitment.
I wonder if I'll ever be able to readjust to normal life.
Anyway, I found this amazing place in Monticello. It's a great water park called the Indiana Beach Boardwalk Resort.
Coming from Colorado, I can totally understand why they're calling this a beach boardwalk resort, but having been to two different coasts so far, it's funny that there's a place in Indiana with the word “beach” in the name.
It's right on the Tippecanoe River and Lake Shafer, and it's great. I loved every minute I spent there.
Dad confirmed that he'd meet me in New Orleans. He's even bought a plane ticket which means I actually have two people to keep appointments with. I can't wait to see him again and adventure though New Orleans with him.
He's sounded better over the phone the last few times I called him, and I'm thinking it might be about time to write him another letter. It helps to mix up our type of communication. My letters to you are also a good reminder to communicate with Dad as much as possible since I never know how much time I have with him.
Meg video called me the other day from the Oregon coast, and it made me feel so homesick for the waves.
Hard to believe I'm homesick for a place I've only ever visited, but there's something about the ruggedness of the Pacific Northwest coast that enchanted me. I don't know that I'll ever find a place that speaks to me in such a profound way.
Meg and Tom have settled into their new life, and she's even found a group of people who go mushroom hunting.
She's obsessed, and I spent five minutes just laughing at her while she raved over something called a Lion's Mane. She cooked it into eggs, and apparently it was amazing.
Now she's been sending me pictures of mushrooms as she finds them, and even though I've never been interested in mushrooms in my life, I just want to walk with her through the woods looking for edible fungi and spending hours in the cool shade of the trees.
I know I've thought this before, and probably written it in letters to you, but no one needs to ever know. Meg is someone you would adore. She just jumps into new adventures with so much abandon.
I wish I could be more like her, but though I've definitely become more adventurous, it feels almost more like I'm running from something than to something. I kind of hate that.
I've never known what I want to do, or who I want to be. No one was able to help me figure it out and I've felt so lost for so long that I don't remember a time I knew where I was going.
But Meg, she knows who she is with a certainty that almost frightens me. And she loves herself with an abandon I've never experienced in another person. Not a single drop of self consciousness.
It's a beautiful thing, and if I have one wish it's that I could grow up to be like her.
I have a thought that when I'm done with this road trip, finishing it off with something significant, I'm sure, I'll end up in Oregon or Washington. The call of the gulls and the pounding of the waves can be the background of my life, and when I look back at my life in Colorado, you will be alive in some part if only because I've never lived there when you weren't.
I don't think I can go back there. Now or ever. In my mind it has a fever dream quality, and my throat tightens every time I think of it, constricting my breathing.
I think Althea would probably tell me to try exposure therapy, confront my fear, and see what life in Colorado could offer me.
Someday I will find the beauty I've always known was there. I'll be grateful enough for the years I had with you that the fact you're gone will only cause a gentle ache in the space in my heart where you belong.
But for now, I'll run. Because running allows me to live the life you should have had. Because running gives me the courage to wake up every morning and step outside my trailer and see what each state holds for me.
My heart breaks without you.
I love you
Bo.
