My boyfriend, Caleb, graduated college this past weekend, and though it should have been a celebratory time, my mind was elsewhere. Last year, during this same time of year, I was the one graduating: the one screening my senior film in the UWM Union Cinema, the one walking across the stage at the Zelazo Center, the one posing for photos with family. Just one year ago, I was part of a family.
And now I am from the outside looking in.
Smiles of congratulations like fading lights in passing rainy car windows.
I don't know what this means but it's how I feel.
THURSDAY, MAY 16: The stiff-backed theater seat forces my mind to the discomfort my mother experienced last year in these same chairs. She was in the midst of passing a kidney stone when she, my father, my sister, and my aunt arrived in Milwaukee to celebrate my senior-year film screening. This was the first time she met my boyfriend, and the first thing he remembers about her was the pain she was in.
And pain was the last thing she experienced too.
At intermission, she lets out a groan. She always tries to hide her various aches and pains, usually associated with Crohn's disease, but this time it was the bullet of calcium compounds attempting to squeeze through her urinary tract. I tell her to drive home, it's alright. I don't say it empathetically. I whisper it like tearing a bandaid from a wound. I am annoyed at her pain interrupting my night of accomplishment.
I wished she wasn't sick.
And now she isn't. She is dead.
SATURDAY, MAY 18: Caleb and I meet his family at Rodizio Grill for a pre-graduation ceremony dinner. He sighs loudly before we get out of the car and complains about all the things his grandma will find wrong with the food and how his brother will be awkward and how his uncle will be embarrassing. I tell him to enjoy the time with them. But mostly enjoy the food.
And I think back to my own pre-graduation dinner last year, when I refused to eat at a family diner with my parents, so my sister, Caleb, and I ate at a sushi restaurant without them.
I'm finding myself regretting every second I chose not to spend with her.
At Rodizio Grill, Caleb's parents are sweet and take photos of us and rave about the restaurant. "This is so fun!" Caleb's mom squeaks two or three times over the course of the meal. Both of them are so excited to see us and to hear about our future plans for the road trip and though it should feel warm and loving, I'm not allowing myself to feel either of those things.
It's hard to let myself be cared about lately. Not with all the memories of my mother haunting me, tripping me, taunting me.
After dinner, we drive seperately to the ceremony, and I meet Caleb's family at the door so that we can sit together. I remember during my ceremony last year, my sister and Caleb played a Zelda game while waiting for me to receive my stole onstage. I take a photo of Caleb and his parents, and I remember the photo that Caleb took of my parents and I last year.
Here one year and gone the next: my schooling, my professors, my parents, my ideas, my roommates, my friends. We're all in flux and some of us are never coming back.
Caleb doesn't attend the full graduation ceremony on Sunday. But Facebook reminds me of the graduation ceremony post I made last year.
5 foot 1 with 2 degrees in 4 years plus pretty gr8 family, friends, and professors. @ University of Wisconsin Milwaukee
Nothing will change who she was, but she changed everything about who we are.
And for that I will always (try to) be happy.
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