the lost year.

I was 18 years old, attending Drake University in Des Moines for my freshman year of college. I had a couple of weird roommates, but made some great friends. I have some vivid memories of my dad moving me into my dorm room and getting delicious milkshakes at the Drake Diner and amazing pizzas from the restaurant on campus. Fraternity house parties where everyone ended up in the makeshift pool and dance parties in a neighbors dorm room. I remember almost daily after class I'd pick up a deli sandwich and Soft Batch chocolate chip cookies on the way to my dorm to watch General Hospital.

But I have no one to corroborate those memories. I didn't keep in touch with anyone from that year after I transferred to another college. I only remember a couple first names of people, along with a vague recollection of what they looked like.

This is what I refer to as the lost year.

It's almost not real. I could almost be convinced that it didn't happen.

It is sad to me now. That first year of college, a pivotal time in my life, and there is no one to look back on it with me. I have no witness to my life at that time.

Now, thankfully, I have (and for the last ten years have had) a built in witness to my life in my husband. And a handful of friends who have known me throughout and shared in my experiences since college. And my family.

I don't want any more lost years. I want to be seen and known and for my years to be real. It's a deep longing. And I want to bear witness to those closest to me. Like this. Especially the end.