I Forgot To Be Sad

Sad Girl Summer, Interrupted by Sushi in My Underwear

I recently had to travel out of state back to a house Jeremy and I used to live in Before everything changed. We, well I, still own. It was a bittersweet trip. I didn’t tell almost anyone I was in town, because I had a lot on my plate, but I managed to see a couple of friends.

At the end of my trip, as I was arriving back at the airport, one of my friends I had spent time with, Kate, texted me. She said, “Let the joy and peace come when it does. It is a gift from above.”

If you had asked me a little over a year ago, right after I lost my son, if I would ever feel joy again, I would’ve said no. Never again. I will never laugh again. I will never smile again. And I truly believed that.

Then Jeremy died.

In a strange way, it woke me up from the drowning grief I’d been in over losing our son and then Jeremy’s diagnosis. I knew I would be dishonoring him if I didn’t at least try to find life in myself again someday. And eventually, I did make jokes. Dark ones, but jokes nonetheless.

I can’t tell you I’ve felt joy that didn’t come tethered to guilt, though. It just hasn’t happened.

Until maybe… now.

On my flight home, after receiving Kate’s text, I told myself: the next time I feel relief, or anything resembling joy, remember what she said. Let it come. It’s a gift. You deserve it. Jeremy would want you to find happiness in whatever capacity is possible.

The rest of the flight, I distracted myself with a food travel show and a nap. Tried not to think about the fact that I’d be flying home to an empty house again. That I wouldn’t be texting Jeremy to say I landed. Some people live like this all the time. For me, it’s still a shock. Where is home these days, anyway?

I trudged through the insanity that is LAX, crossing what felt like a marathon’s worth of terminals, and finally reached the rideshare pickup. I was sweating. Exhausted. But so happy to be in my Uber.

The sun was shining.

My angel of a cleaning lady had been to my house while I was gone, so I knew I’d come home to a clean house. I opened Postmates. The answer was, obviously… sushi. Always sushi.

There was no traffic (an LA miracle), and I arrived home to a spotless, quiet, inviting space. I immediately stripped off my clothes, unpacked, threw in a load of laundry. My sushi arrived. I poured a cold drink. Sat on the couch in my underwear. Turned on the TV, and devoured my sushi.

And I let the endorphins kick in.

Honestly, who doesn’t feel a little transcendent eating sushi half-naked on the couch with fresh laundry tumbling in the background? It’s a religious experience.

Later, I crawled into bed and did that thing where you shimmy in delight at the feeling of clean sheets. I laid there. Enjoying the moment.

Wait. Enjoying the moment?

It hit me: I forgot to be sad.

I forgot to look around at all the things that remind me of the people I miss most and spiral into grief. I forgot to sink into the couch. I forgot to cry.

It’s not that I forgot what happened. That will never be possible. But for one night, I focused on what was right in front of me. The comfort. The quiet. The sushi. Maybe it was Kate’s words casting a momentary spell. Maybe I’m unlocking a new level in this strange new life.

I tried not to feel guilty.

I imagined Jeremy looking down and smiling at me, enjoying my dinner and a tiny sliver of peace. I think he’d be happy to see me that way. Maybe your version of Jeremy would be, too.

Because whoever your people are, the ones you’ve lost, I want to believe they want us to keep going while we’re here.

And still, right before I fell asleep, I wondered… How long will this last? 

The answer was about seven hours. Ha.

The next morning? Heavy. A story for another day.

And all the more reason I’m grateful for the night before. I needed the reprieve.

Whatever your version of sushi and clean sheets is, I hope you find a moment to forget to be sad, too. Even just for a night. x