Dear Liv: Remember how we used to love it when my mom made us pancakes on Saturday morning while we watched Looney Tunes from our Lizzie McGuire sleeping bags on the hard floor?

And remember how she made us fresh-squeezed orange juice and left the hollowed-out orange on the tray because we insisted on it and would fuss and pout and make her life absolutely miserable if she didn't?

Even after all the juice was squeezed out, and there was nothing left but the peel and the pulp and maybe a few seeds, we wanted that orange.

That was us, Livvie. Sucking the juice out until there was nothing left. We thought we'd never run out.

But we did. And we have.

You always talked about efficient memory usage - keeping the essential data, clearing the cache of everything else.

I never understood why you'd get so frustrated when "programs hogged memory" or whatever it is you used to call it.

But recently, I realized something:

Grief is the ultimate memory leak, isn't it.

It just keeps consuming resources until your whole system slows down.

These days, I force myself up and out, but there's no juice in me. It's all been squeezed out. Even the rind is dry.

I think of you first thing when I wake up. I see you in the sweetness of your little boy. He has your smile. And your stubbornness.

Most days when I think of you, it tugs at my heart, but it also makes me smile. But some days, I'm raging at you on the inside. So angry with you for leaving me.

How dare you. And you call yourself my friend.

But in the middle of all of this, I think I'm learning — finally — that missing someone isn't a bug to fix - it's a background process that teaches you what was worth storing in the first place.

I miss you, Livvie.

So much.

Love,

Patience

Dear Liv: Remember how we used to love it when my mom made us pancakes on Saturday morning while we watched Looney Tunes from our Lizzie McGuire sleeping bags on the hard floor?

And remember how she made us fresh-squeezed orange juice and left the hollowed-out orange on the tray because we insisted on it and would fuss and pout and make her life absolutely miserable if she didn't?

Even after all the juice was squeezed out, and there was nothing left but the peel and the pulp and maybe a few seeds, we wanted that orange.

That was us, Livvie. Sucking the juice out until there was nothing left. We thought we'd never run out.

But we did. And we have.

You always talked about efficient memory usage - keeping the essential data, clearing the cache of everything else.

I never understood why you'd get so frustrated when "programs hogged memory" or whatever it is you used to call it.

But recently, I realized something:

Grief is the ultimate memory leak, isn't it.

It just keeps consuming resources until your whole system slows down.

These days, I force myself up and out, but there's no juice in me. It's all been squeezed out. Even the rind is dry.

I think of you first thing when I wake up. I see you in the sweetness of your little boy. He has your smile. And your stubbornness.

Most days when I think of you, it tugs at my heart, but it also makes me smile. But some days, I'm raging at you on the inside. So angry with you for leaving me.

How dare you. And you call yourself my friend.

But in the middle of all of this, I think I'm learning — finally — that missing someone isn't a bug to fix - it's a background process that teaches you what was worth storing in the first place.

I miss you, Livvie.

So much.

Love,

Patience