It’s been 11 weeks and two days.  I went to Duluth this weekend and for the first time since you died, I was surrounded by good memories.  I hate that and I love that. We went to Tettegouche State Park and I couldn’t even bring myself to look at the lake because it reminded me of New Year’s Eve when we had the park to ourselves and you almost asked me to marry you.   I would probably almost have said yes.  We had such a beautiful connection that day.  Marty (our/my counselor) told me to go to places where you and I had good memories and talk to you there.  Had I walked across to the lake side of the park, I might have tried that.  I didn’t.  I walked across the road and turned my back on the memories of you and I together.  I created new memories with my friends and tried hard to replace the memories of you and Lake Superior with new ones.  

Lake Superior always centers me.  I touch the smooth lake stones, listen to the waves, smell the pine trees and suddenly, all my strands, all the parts of the various Kims I’ve groomed, pull together.  Suppressed emotions rise to the surface, challenging my delicately balanced facade. I allow grief and sadness to wash over me.  I step out of the “you’re so strong” description that I wear like a badge of accomplishment, and instead, feel weakness.  And you know what?  I actually allowed myself to remain immersed in weakness.  And it felt surprisingly comfortable.