Even so, I didn’t feel as comfortable talking with other people. Frequently, I was discouraged from sharing because people didn’t listen very well. Other times it was because I had it ingrained in my brain that what happened in our family should be kept secret. For a while, I’d convinced myself others not only wouldn’t understand or care enough to learn about the real me, but also that they’d judge my family and me if I were completely open and honest with them.
There were so many reasons why I didn’t want what had been one of the best weeks of my life to come to an end. I’ve always hated not knowing what would happen next, many times, because in the past, major decisions were made without my input, and I had to deal with the consequences. I wanted to hold on to the memories, the closeness I’d felt to someone else, and the abundance of laughter and silliness we shared. Kevin had said he’d never been good about writing letters, and I knew my mom wasn’t okay with us spending hours and hours talking on the phone. I hoped something would change so we wouldn’t lose touch.
