It’s almost noon, and I have yet to write in my journal, which feels mildly rebellious. Usually I write in the morning, a little in the afternoon, and then again before I post it, like I’m live-blogging my own extremely domestic life. But today? My brain is foggy. Not in a poetic, mysterious way. More like someone replaced my thoughts with elevator music.
I keep zoning out. Just… staring into space. Yesterday I was zoning out, too, but at least I was tired. Today I have energy. So now I’m restlessly zoning out, which is somehow worse. It’s like my brain drank espresso but forgot what to do with it.
I did study this morning, though, so I’m counting that as a win. If nothing else, I showed up and read things and understood most of them. That’s progress.
Last night was wild for Tommy and Kel trying to get home from the city. We live about 30–40 minutes away, depending on the traffic and your location in town. The catch? Mountains. One main freeway. One side road. That’s it. It’s basically: “May the odds be ever in your favor.”
Well, the freeway was shut down because of a terrible accident. An officer was pinned beneath a semi and sadly didn’t make it. It’s heartbreaking. So the entire route home was closed. Their only option was to turn around, drive the opposite direction to another city, and then take a two-lane road all the way back. What should have been 30–40 minutes turned into two hours. But they were also trying to get through the city, so that was a few hours in itself. They didn’t get home until 10 p.m.
When I woke up at 5 this morning, the freeway was still closed. Of course, right around the time Tommy and Kel had to leave for work, they reopened it.
Chris stayed home today, so I’m not watching Everest. Merlin doesn’t have his playmate. I can’t tell if he’s sad about it. He’s always operating at Level 11 Energy with zero emotional transparency. He could be grieving, or he could just be thinking about snacks. It’s impossible to know.
I have therapy at 2. I’m not entirely sure what I’ll talk about. Maybe this fog. Maybe the restless zoning. Maybe the fact that I tried to become a barista this morning and failed spectacularly.
I found a can of sweetened condensed milk in the pantry and decided I would invent a coffee recipe. Very Pinterest of me. I poured it in with confidence… and immediately created liquid candy. It was aggressively sweet. Like, “Are you okay?” sweet. Next time, I’ll add it a little at a time instead of trusting my instincts, which are clearly unqualified in condensed-milk distribution.
But I did enjoy the experiment. There’s something satisfying about inventing a drink, even if it tastes like melted frosting.
At one point, I decided I was going to become a mixologist and invent my own signature cocktail. I think it was blueberry vodka, very creative, I know. It actually tasted really good. A little too good. It was sweet and smooth and didn’t taste very strong… which should have been my first warning sign.
Unfortunately, I may have been a little heavy-handed with the vodka. It went down like juice, and then, very suddenly, it did not feel like juice. Let’s just say it worked very efficiently. Delicious? Yes. Balanced and responsible? Not exactly.
It was basically a dessert disguised as a bad decision.
And now it’s lunchtime. We apparently have a soup collection forming in the pantry. Yesterday was vegetable soup. Today is broccoli and cheese. I don’t know how we became a Soup Household, but here we are. I’m leaning into it. Oh, I know, there was a sale at our local store.
So that’s today so far: foggy brain, productive studying, mountain detours, experimental coffee gone wrong, energetic dog confusion, therapy at 2, and soup for lunch.
During my therapy session today, my phone rang. I didn’t answer it, I let it go to voicemail, but it was an investigator calling to let me know that the parole hearing is coming up for the drunk driver who hit Kevin. By law, they have to notify the next of kin and ask whether we want to attend or participate in the hearing.
I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to sit in a room and look at the person who changed everything. But I am curious about the outcome. I keep wondering whether Kevin’s foster dad might want to attend. I called the investigator back to get more details, but it went to voicemail. So now I’m just waiting for the return call.
I don’t think he should be released. I truly believe he’s a danger to society. Hearing about the parole brought back a flood of memories I usually keep tucked away. He’s eligible under California’s Elderly Parole Program; he’s 77 now. I looked him up in the California inmate search. The hearing is scheduled for April 3.
It’s strange how blurry that day feels now. It was 22 years ago. I didn’t find out right away. My parents came to the park to tell me. It was Easter. I had been there all day with Kevin’s family, and it had actually been a good day. Alexis wasn’t colicky at all. Karissa was being so brave, swinging by herself.
After I found out, I went home with my parents because I didn’t want to be alone in the apartment. Later that night, my dad and I had to go back to get some things. I vaguely remember making phone calls, telling people what had happened. Those were some of the hardest calls I’ve ever made. I don’t remember much else from that night, just fragments. I do remember my dad making calls to family about Kevin. I was calling mostly friends. We were supposed to go over to Kevin’s foster parents’ house for dinner. I called them first to tell them.
What I remember clearly is the next morning, waking up and feeling completely, profoundly alone.
Tommy asked me if I would attend the hearing if it were remote. I honestly hadn’t even considered that as an option. I think I would go. It would scare me, no question about that. Even through a screen, it would still feel real.
I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to hear his voice or be reminded of any of it. But there’s another part of me that feels different. Like maybe showing up, even virtually, would give me some sense of closure. Maybe it would feel like I stood in the room, in my own way, instead of letting it happen without me.
It’s complicated. I’m torn between protecting my peace and wanting that finality. But if it were remote… I think I’d go.
