A Secret

I didn't write about you here last month- and you and I both know that doesn't mean I'm not thinking of you on a near-constant basis; if you're not my current thought at a moment, you are still there, lingering, and that is OK.  It is painful, but it is as it has to be.

I went to a therapist that specializes in grief today.  I'm picky, you know that.  I'd never seen her before, and trying to talk about you and what has happened feels impossible- particularly if I'm trying to explain Kaitlin to someone who never met you.  I don't know where to even begin.  It is overwhelming and unbearable to speak about the worst thing that's ever happened to me, to us.

But at one point, I tried explaining just why and how it is so difficult to talk about you and what happened to you.  I described it, saying: "It feels like a secret."

A secret.  That word just tapped into something.  A secret.  One of the explanations in the dictionary defined it as, "revealed only to the initiated."  I looked it up just now as I was writing this, because I keep turning the word over in my head- this is the first time I've described things in that way.  I don't know where it came from, it seemed to make sense in the moment, and that definition gets it right.  This is my life's secret- to reveal you only to those that should know you; to reveal you, and in turn, who I was, through you, to those who have earned the privilege of knowing you/us. 

I don't know who I am.  I've never had a strong grasp or confidence in the person I am; I don't know that I've ever needed that.  I felt that I was known by those who loved me and knew me best- my family.  And in your loss, I'm losing so damn much, and realizing how much I needed that understanding that existed between us.  It's unearthed a lifetime of pain, confusion, and loss.  But YOU knew me, and you will always know me.  Who we are to each other doesn't change, ultimately- you are always Kaitlin, I am always Lauren. 

You are my greatest and most devastating secret.