It is measured in inches, feet, miles. It is measured in breaths, moments, spaces left unfilled.

I feel a distance between us these days and it sucks the air out of my lungs.

At Bella yesterday, I watched two sisters reunite after a period apart. One of them had a 7 year old child. The awkward banter between the aunt and the child was enough to turn my stomach.

I don’t want to be a bookend in your life. I am so grateful you phoned me today, though some jealous streak in me shone very brightly after we disconnected. You picked our other sister to live near, not me. While my conscious mind knows the details that went into your decision, and that my jealousy is (mostly) unfounded, my heart is brutally sore.

This is exacerbated by all of you now being in one city, as well as the recent happening of me finding myself purposefully and yet still somehow regretfully alone in seemingly all ways imaginable after setting my boundary about Mom living with me. I’ve heard from neither Mom nor Shai since. While I’m not entirely surprised by this, it’s taking a toll on me I didn’t foresee.

Under the calm exterior that reasons with logic and science, that wants your happiness and to respect your choice of moving to Colorado and support it unconditionally, there runs a river of emotion that at times threatens to crash out of my heart like a tsunami wave. Maybe if I give it space here to breathe, if I shine some light on it and share with you the way it ravages me at times…perhaps allowing it freedom here will allow it to dissipate.

When that jealousy welled up in me today after our much too brief interaction, my first inclination was to freak out. To have walked into the restaurant you were dining in with our other sister and put on an ear-splitting tantrum worthy of the best/worst 2 year old performance one might ever see in public…

I’m standing there and my face suddenly begins screwing up into a fiery red ball of angst, fists clenching so tightly at my sides that I might draw blood from my palms, until I throw myself hard at the floor, my limbs erupting in a tumultuous dance of rage. Tears flowing down my face, patrons are looking on, stunned, fearful. Afraid to intervene, frozen in their seats, hoping my parent will jump in and stop this inappropriate interruption to their $12 salad and overpriced yet watery rum and coke. I cry and I yell unintelligible things… fragments of tormented words can be heard above the din of my thrashing…”why”…”I miss you”…”don’t leave me”…”I can’t be with them”…”I should be a witness to your life”….”please”


It’s such a tiny word for how much pressure and expectation it imbues. To petition. To ask for. A polite request.

I’m not asking you to move because I do respect your wishes and I also know a moot point when I see one.

I simply ask you, don’t forget me. Don’t let me miss your life. I feel like every day I’m missing more. This is the most important time of your life up til now and I’m afraid it will change us and we won’t recognize each other the same way. I’m frightened. I’ve watched my friendships change when children came along. I won’t know what you’ve been through or have roughly any idea at all. And I’m fucking terrified to lose you, my spirit animal, my soul mate. I’m not falling apart every single day; I’m present and grateful a lot, but there is a rumbling of supreme dissatisfaction and fear in me that I don’t know what to do with. So I brought it here.

I’m here. I’m sad. I feel disconnected. A lot of it is my own doing, probably. If I hadn’t laid the boundary about Mom being on the boat, maybe things would feel different. I’m trying to take care of myself, and I’m not good at it sometimes. I need you. I always want you to take care of yourself first. I know you’re overwhelmed and I don’t know if that’s why it feels like I don’t hear from you very much. I don’t want to add to your stress. Just know… I love you, I miss you, and I feel like we’re in different universes. Don’t let me float away like George Clooney, ok?



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