Getting On Your Feet Again

Disclaimer: The contents of this blog post are tremendously heavy and in writing this, I had to relive a repertoire of pain I’ve endured over the last several years in complete silence. Themes of death (of a loved one) and heartbreak are discussed.

This December, I’ll graduate from the University of Georgia and start my journey in young adult life. As I near this milestone, I find myself reliving memories of my college life, recounting it as a very difficult time.

Now, I am readying myself to bid a fond farewell to it.

My catharsis, nearly within arm’s reach, requires me to reacquaint my present self with my past self: My inner child. When we meet, she asks me questions about myself—herself—and a lump in my throat grows from the fear that my answers will make her cry. They make me cry. For not protecting her, not choosing her first. And because I know her so well, I know that seeing me cry will make her cry too. I’ll kiss her forehead, caress the hair that took so long to grow in, and wipe the tears from her round cheeks that look just like her dad’s.

And I will try my best to coddle her for the things she’s about to go through.

I will choke on my words as I answer her questions because, no matter how hard it is for me to revisit, she deserves to know.

What are you like?

You’re very ambitious, Madeline. You like to do many things, and you want to be the very best at them. You’re a writer, a workaholic, and a hopeless romantic. You still love to play dress-up. You work at a boutique and it’s actually your job to play dress-up with customers. You’ve come a very long way from those long hours playing Nintendo’s Style Savvy on your turquoise DSi. Of all things, you love to sing and play guitar. You finally learned how after telling yourself for many years. Oh, and you still think that you’re going to be a pop star someday.

Who is your best friend?

Maddie Grace, you have a LOT of best friends, even though you moved a lot when you were little. You won’t stay in Virginia because you’ll move to New York. You won’t stay in New York because you’ll move to Georgia. All those friends you made up north are gone, but you still try to find them on social media occasionally. That will prove to be hard, and it’ll make your heart hurt a little. It’s hard to accept that you might not ever reconnect with such a sacred and fundamental part of your growth. You were always bad at goodbyes.

When your family settled down in Georgia, you started making the best friends in the whole wide world. You’ll meet a girl named Jackie in chorus when you get to middle school. Then, you’ll meet a girl named Lorel on the cheer team in high school. In college, you’ll meet Nina and Audrey through the sorority you joined, and meet Pace shortly after that. You and Pace live together now and she has been a very consistent reminder of all the things you love and appreciate in friendships. Lastly, you’ll meet Kira. She started as a coworker at your fun dress-up job but became such a special soul to you. She is a light, a role model, and everything you hope to be in life.

Though, you have had a lot of friends who you thought were your best friends but weren’t. And that’s okay. You will learn to believe people’s true colors when they show them, and sometimes, people’s true colors aren’t your favorite colors. It doesn’t mean they’re bad people either. It just makes them the wrong people for you to keep close. And still, that’s okay because nothing ever gets lost in vain.

What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever been through?

I don’t like this question…

November 30th, 2022. You were making orange chicken and fried rice for dinner. You were also getting ready to hang out with the boy you liked, prepping to make Christmas cookies and watch TV. That’s when you got a call from Mama. She asked, “Can we have a private conversation?” You were really confused and said, “What’s going on? I’m cooking dinner.” Mom asks again, “Madeline, can we have a private conversation?” You pressed her again, but she said, “Madeline, please go to your room, I need to talk to you.” You thought you were in really big trouble at first, but couldn’t think of a reason. You crept up the stairs hesitantly, listening to your heart race in that moment of silence and confusion.

You entered your room, asking for the final time, “What is going on?” That’s when Mom said it.

“Your father died this morning.”

And you—you just went into complete shock. Your knees couldn’t hold the weight of your body anymore, and they crashed into the carpet. You tried to speak, but could only scream. In that moment of terror, everything sounded like you were underwater. While you drowned, you heard the distant voice of your roommate, saying from the surface of that water, “MJ?” with concern.

20 minutes have passed. Your sister Halle is on the way to your apartment with Mama to bring you home. You had to tell the boy. He didn’t have to be there, despite how desperately you needed somebody, yet he was. Now, he has a piece of this night in his memory forever—some secondhand trauma. It was really brave. It’s not every day that your dad dies 3 weeks into a relationship. He waited all 2 hours for Mom and Halle to get you, helping you pack a bag and wipe your tears along the way.

The next day, you said goodbye to Daddy for good. He looked like he was sleeping very peacefully. You couldn’t touch him at first, but Mama gave you the look that told you that it was going to be okay, and your big brother Joey helped you put your hand on Dad’s chest. He was very cold, condensation forming on his forehead from thawing. Still, he looked peaceful. He wasn’t suffering. Not anymore. And somehow, his lips were slightly turned up into a smile. Your teary eyes were searching for his spirit inside this body, only to find that he was not there anymore. Forever.

Have you had your heart broken?

Of course, but none of them cut as deep as that one boy. The neighbor. The bus crush. The one who rushed home to you that fated night when Dad passed. He did a number on your heart. Several times. You tried hard to see the silver lining in facing such a difficult loss together, but it never came. You never needed anybody more than you did in those moments, but he couldn’t bear it; He couldn’t tell you that he couldn’t bear it. The union died a slow, painstaking death right in front of you, as you scrambled to find a cure. It died. And it killed you.

You ached for so long. Regret, reminisce, pine, repeat. After a few months apart, he invaded your space, leaving a lengthy trail of breadcrumbs for you to follow. Piece by piece, you ate the bait. The words he spoke sounded like: “Madeline, I miss you but I’m not in any place to be in a relationship with you or anybody else right now. It sucks because I know how much love I could give to somebody. I just can’t do it right now, but there isn’t a single thing I don’t miss about you.” But the bait—It was addictive. Delusional. It tasted like, “Madeline I miss you. There isn’t a single thing I don’t miss about you.” Hook, line, and sinker.

Yet, nothing could’ve tasted any sweeter than the cherry on top: The other woman. The breadcrumbs, the false hope, it was poison. It killed you.

“I know about the girl and I’m done being second best,” you told him. “I promise I’ll explain everything when I’m off work,” he tells you. So, you waited. And waited. And waited some more. Hours became days. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. He couldn’t even say sorry. It killed you.

Like clockwork, he invades you again—a text. He tells you after four months of silence that he’s sorry, and that he had no reason to do what he did. He tells you that he saw the best thing that could have been a part of his life, and for some reason, he felt like he didn’t deserve it. You ask yourself why this worthlessness mentality is always the blame for a boy’s inadequacies. And finally, he tells you, “I think if you would have said I love you first, I would have said it back and I would have meant it. And maybe I wouldn’t have been so self-destructive that I let go of the greatest person I ever met.” Apparently, it’s. All. Your. Fault. The final blow. A smoking gun. It killed you.

Not to mention the timing, so fresh after Dad passed. He knew you had those heartstrings, and he plucked, twiddled, and strummed away at them. Without even trying, he ended up cutting every single one. Not quickly, not gracefully—very slowly, very painfully. You just didn’t deserve it.

What are you the most proud of?

Remember how I said you love to write? It’s one of your greatest gifts and has been the common denominator in everything you’re most proud of. You see this talent out in so many areas of life, especially personally. And without giving him too much credit, that stupid boy is a big reason why you write the way you do. He’s a writer too—a songwriter.

Now, you write songs. You beat this awful entanglement to death with poetry. You tell your story with equal parts wit and ache, torturing the situation the way it tortured you. And it’s very therapeutic. You can say the things you never got to say—he never let you say— and feel closer to a sense of peace. And one day when you have the money, you’re going to take all the songs you’ve written over the years and record an album.

That spunky little girl who thinks she’s going to be a pop star someday would be so proud.

What are you looking forward to now?

It almost doesn’t feel real to say it, but you’ll live in Cortona, Italy for three months when you study abroad in August. It’ll be your first time going to Europe and you couldn’t be more excited to see the world. You’re going to paint and make ceramics, and learn about Italian fashion and Renaissance art amongst a mixed group of perfect friends and perfect strangers. Even your family is going to visit you while you’re there at “La Mostra,” the end-of-year showcase of all the art you and your peers have created during your studies.

That is just one of the many things you have to look forward to. There is so much light at the end of the tunnel. You couldn’t see during those many years of being stuck in traffic, trapped in darkness. But you do now. You’re almost out of it, kid.

Are you happy?

I really, really am. It genuinely gets so much better. There’s so much I could say, but you just have to wait and see, Maddie Grace.

Strike Out,

Madeline Jankowski

Editor: Caroline Kostuch

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