millennial blog project

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to think about it.

I don’t want to think about it and her.

I don’t want to think about it and her and seeing her for the last time.

I don’t want to think about it and her and seeing her for the last time and holding her hand and letting her try on my then-new sneakers and hearing her laugh because she couldn’t hear what any of us were saying.

I don’t want to think about her climbing into that red truck and driving away.

I don’t want to think about letting her go.

I don’t want to think about spending a weekend with grandparents that weren’t even mine when my last grandparent took her last breath.

I don’t want to think about her reaction when she saw my pixie cut last year after it had just been done she loved it, she loved it, she loved it.

I don’t want to think about her fingers running through my hair, smiling up at me with her crooked teeth because, at that point, she’d given up on wearing her dentures and pretty much had stopped combing her thinning white hair after years of raking an insistent, painful brush through mine.

I don’t want to think about the phone call and the silent sobs, Hannah climbing into the backseat to hold me, her mom driving on in silence.

I don’t want to think about the three-hour drive home that day because I don’t even remember it.

I don’t want to think about the boy who didn’t care, who hadn’t even checked his voicemail to hear my muffled explanation, who, when I told him where I was, what had happened, how I felt, he sounded…surprised.

I don’t want to think about work tomorrow and the fact that it’s 1 a.m. and I’ll wake up with puffy eyes.

I don’t want to think about this weekend a year ago as the last time I ever saw her alive.

I don’t want to think.

I can’t think.