Half of Me

Red. The color of blood. The color of love. The color of a brick. The color of your alma mater, N.C. State University.

Blue. The color of the sky. The sky I look to for your face, scanning for any sign that you are still here with me. Are you out there? It must have killed you a little bit on the inside when I chose that gorgeous Carolina blue over red. And then the girls followed suit, too. But I know that you were secretly proud. And secretly enjoyed how it reignited the friendly rivalry between you and your dad, Carolina versus State, blue versus red.

Red. The color of blood and love. You were the bond and blood and love that held this family together. I often stare into the vastness of the open, Carolina blue sky and it is just so beautiful, taking me back to those UNC days. But it is also so very overwhelming. It feels massive and never ending, like this grief. It reminds me this world is so incredibly large and we are just tiny specs of dust and there are so many souls like yours out there on the other side. Are you out there? It’s bizarre to never be able to look at the sky the same way again.

Red. The color of the bricks on N.C. State’s campus. The color of the Wolfpack. We chose a brick to honor and remember you because you loved N.C. State and bricks symbolize the university. Your brick sits in front of the D.H. Hill library, right at the entrance, with your name, graduation year and fraternity listed. We had another brick installed in Fourth Ward park, so I could have something in Charlotte to honor and remember you by as well. It sits right at the entrance to the park by the fountain on 9th street. The same street Alexander Michaels is on – one of your favorite restaurants in Charlotte, where Zach asked you if he could marry me. But I realized something the other day – these bricks don’t just symbolize your alma mater. They symbolize all the things you built in your life.

You literally built the house we grew up in with your hands, along with your dad. I can’t even wrap my head around that. I mumble and grumble through simply changing lightbulbs and doing laundry on the weekends and you built an entire house. A house you helped to make a loving home with mom. A home you two made warm and welcoming that I knew I could always come home to, even after storming out during arguments as a teen and pretending to run away up the street as a kid. A home where you piled leaves in the front yard that we jumped into in the Fall. A home where you turned the basement into a roller skating rink for me and my friends. A home where you built pillow forts with me in front of the fireplace. You built furniture – end tables and coffee tables to fill this home, some that now reside in my own home as an adult. You built a toy train set when the girls were little, from your bare hands, that gave countless hours of fun and activity for them. You helped build the lake house in which we spent so many summers. And you built the memories there too – patiently teaching me to ski, how to wakeboard, trying to knock me and the girls and our friends off the tube, teaching us how to drive the boat. Throwing sticks to the dogs in the water, jumping and diving off the dock, sneaking up from below us to scare us while we were sunbathing on rafts. Grilling out burgers and hot dogs on the 4th of July and putting off fireworks on the gravel beside the house. There are still marks in the pavement from those many summers ago.

You built me. I am literally one half of you. This DNA inside me, these human bricks and building blocks of life, one half of them is you. Half of me that feels gone. Half of me that was ripped away in a split second while I was literally an ocean away. Half of me that often feels confused and lost because you aren’t here. But it is the half of me that has your corny sense of humor. The half of me that loves potty humor and fart jokes. The half of me that I’m pretty sure is actually who you were as a little boy, always playful and never quite wanting to grow up. Half of me that you instilled your work ethic in, as well as your sense of integrity and fierce loyalty. The half of me that is even able to write these words because of the creative ability you gave me. The half of me that wants to always think of ways I can give back to others, because that’s what you always did. And despite all the jokes about me having a Latina temper, I’m pretty sure half of me actually has your temper in the end.

You built me up to be who I am as a human, building block by building block. You made me who I am today. I’m not sure how I am supposed to ever feel whole again, but I promise I will not let die the part of you that is me. I am half of you, forever.