After completing that irritatingly nagging yet profoundly satisfying project, I realized I still had one more to do.
The first one.
I am not sure where to begin with this one. There is so much more to tell.
Maybe better to just stick with immediate thoughts behind her name. Keep it short.
I was excited when they told me I could give her a name. That her family would probably change it, but I was allowed to do that. I wouldn't have any control over her last name, so I focused on the first two initials.
M and I have been friends for ages. One of my first truly good friends. A very good friend all through my crappy teenager stuff. Without even needing details, he stood by me in everything. Never any judgement. The night I ran away, he made me come to say goodbye and had his mother there to talk to me. Traitor. He was there for me allot. We'd date, but end up fighting. We fought alot. Somehow we were better as friends. Good friends. Though I would leave him, he never once abandoned me.
There were periods where we drifted apart, mostly during our senior year. Towards the end we reconnected and over that next fall spent more time together. He freaked when Mat and I hooked up. He worried about me.
When he left he wanted a promise from me that I just could not give. Not to him or anyone else. I was closer to him than anyone.
And I couldn't tell him either. Of all the people I wanted to talk to, he was one of them. So was his mom. I could have used her wisdom then. But I didn't have that kind of courage then. I was such a fragile mess.
He knew something was going on, like always and was nothing but encouraging and supportive.
Those letters in those months made a difference to me. They were important in all that grief, a comfort. Even though it could never be more than that. It was vital to me then. True friendship. Though I don't know if he has ever forgiven me for after. I know he felt betrayed, and rightly so.
His initials are MM. The second M was simple. Each oldest daughter has had the same middle name for three generations. She made the fourth. It was only a small thing I could do.
The first. Well Melissa just seemed to fit. I was thinking of M's early on and it came to me. I can't remember even when it all started, but we all called her Melissa from really early on.
The family I lived with, even the doctor. It was just who she was, before anyone had even met her.I even remember conversations with my stomach calling her by name.
I learned much later on that Melissa meant Beautiful Creation.
I wanted to much to do right by her.
Not to have my abandonment become hers.
To not have my mistakes become hers.
Melissa Marie.
Beautiful Creation.
The first story.
The first one.
I am not sure where to begin with this one. There is so much more to tell.
Maybe better to just stick with immediate thoughts behind her name. Keep it short.
I was excited when they told me I could give her a name. That her family would probably change it, but I was allowed to do that. I wouldn't have any control over her last name, so I focused on the first two initials.
M and I have been friends for ages. One of my first truly good friends. A very good friend all through my crappy teenager stuff. Without even needing details, he stood by me in everything. Never any judgement. The night I ran away, he made me come to say goodbye and had his mother there to talk to me. Traitor. He was there for me allot. We'd date, but end up fighting. We fought alot. Somehow we were better as friends. Good friends. Though I would leave him, he never once abandoned me.
There were periods where we drifted apart, mostly during our senior year. Towards the end we reconnected and over that next fall spent more time together. He freaked when Mat and I hooked up. He worried about me.
When he left he wanted a promise from me that I just could not give. Not to him or anyone else. I was closer to him than anyone.
And I couldn't tell him either. Of all the people I wanted to talk to, he was one of them. So was his mom. I could have used her wisdom then. But I didn't have that kind of courage then. I was such a fragile mess.
He knew something was going on, like always and was nothing but encouraging and supportive.
Those letters in those months made a difference to me. They were important in all that grief, a comfort. Even though it could never be more than that. It was vital to me then. True friendship. Though I don't know if he has ever forgiven me for after. I know he felt betrayed, and rightly so.
His initials are MM. The second M was simple. Each oldest daughter has had the same middle name for three generations. She made the fourth. It was only a small thing I could do.
The first. Well Melissa just seemed to fit. I was thinking of M's early on and it came to me. I can't remember even when it all started, but we all called her Melissa from really early on.
The family I lived with, even the doctor. It was just who she was, before anyone had even met her.I even remember conversations with my stomach calling her by name.
I learned much later on that Melissa meant Beautiful Creation.
I wanted to much to do right by her.
Not to have my abandonment become hers.
To not have my mistakes become hers.
Melissa Marie.
Beautiful Creation.
The first story.
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