Hannah "Birdie" Morrison
There's certain things that I will never grow used to, no matter how much time passes.
Like the fact that Barry is gone. The pain has dulled over the years, it's edges softening but it still lingers there, waiting for the moments when I least expect it before it slices through the layer of bandaids I've applied over the hole.
Or every time my mom goes for a check up, the fear of her cancer returning intensifies with a crippling disability.
All the little things that remind me of Drew. They're everywhere. He's everywhere. And his absence is such a tangible thing yet at the same time I often find myself forgetting. Only to remember and succumb to the overwhelming grief that comes with remembering that I will never hear his voice, I will never see his smile, or hold his hand or hug him again. There are so many things I had pictured Drew in my life for that rewriting them to no longer have him in the picture is not only tragic but near impossible.
But without Drew, or without Drew leaving, I'm not sure Holt and I would ever have come together in the way that we have.
And I love the way that we are. What we've become. Who he has become.
My shoulder leans into the doorframe, the gym loud and full of noise as kids go running down the length of the court. Balls twang against the polished floors, sneaker soles squeaking, shouts get belted but amidst the chaos is Holt.
His eyes locked on one player specifically, watching every thing the kid does, studying him with such focus and precision. Even though he'd never say it, I think he's come to love this program more than basketball itself.
"Excuse me." A voice comes from behind me and I leave my perch in the doorway tossing an apology over my shoulder.
When I turn my attention back to Holt, he's no longer focused on the game he's surveying. Instead he's watching me. The sight of him, standing they're with square shoulders and messy hair, a smile that isn't necessarily visible but yet you can see it in the easy way in which he stands, how he's not filled with tension. I love this man that stands across the gym from me, every single piece of him. All the good and all the bad.
I can remember the days when Holt couldn't maintain eye contact for longer than a few seconds. When he barely spoke, not that he's suddenly become a talker but he can hold a conversation. Back when it seemed as though he kept a force field bared around him ready to deflect the slightest of touches.
Holt has made monumental leaps in the years since high school. Of course we had some set backs, Drew's death a major one and then again with Blue. But Holt, even though he doesn't see it himself, has always been a fighter.
And I have faith that'll he'll keep on fighting.
It's just who he is.
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Merry Christmas! I'm back! Should we start this off with a double update to celebrate?
