Stage 8: Assessment

Day 200: Rye, Aperol, Simple syrup, blood orange bitters. I don't have a name for it yet. A "Blurred Reflection," perhaps.

Six months, half a year since Dahlia left… left isn't the right word. Left implies intent. Active rather than passive; subject rather than object. She was taken, stolen, robbed from the ranks of the living. In some respects, six months is a milestone. A point in time to reflect, and determine personal progress. A period to look back and determine what going forward means.

Looking backward involved watching the funeral service. It was difficult to get through. I cried on and off for the first 20 minutes, pretty much entirely through my eulogy, even though it seemed relatively light hearted at the time. Around the time her friends began discussing the stories of her life, my parents called. It gave me a break, time to gather my thoughts. By the time I was done discussing some asinine topic or another with my lovely mother, I had time to put things in a little more perspective.

The rest of the viewing left me in a state of somber joy. Her friends spoke so well of the joy Dahlia brought to everyone's life. Instead of sadness, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. The thirteen years we spent together are irreplaceable and were cut short, but moving forward would be impossible without them. I ended up more grateful than sad, which is as good as things could have went.

Looking forward meant figuring out what the next six months looked like. It's a scary, blurred proposition. I don't know what a lot of it will look like, but the one thing I know is that I need to accept failure better, especially when it comes to other people opinions and certainly when it comes to my own.  It's amazing how willing we are to forgive our friends, but completely unwilling to forgive our own failings.

With that in mind, I decided to find something I could fail fast and spectacularly at. Considering my limited previous experiences, dating seemed like a good choice. I'll be sure to discuss all the failures in awkward detail as they happen.