I had no words then. I have no words now. But I’ll still try to convey this.
June 19th, 2018.
My first thought was “I knew it.”
My second thought was “I understand.”
And I really did. And I still do.
I found this site back then, but despite everything, I didn’t make a post.
Now, almost three months later, I’m here , doing it. Yet it feels more like I’ve ignored the grief than dealt with it. Nothing about my life has given me the time, acceptance, or ability to mourn you.
I fear quiet moments. I fear having time to think.
When you were born, it was the best birthday I’d ever had, or would ever have. We all wanted you. We all knew our family wasn’t complete until you were born.
As a baby, you were the cutest. I recall your kind heart. Remember when you took our pet goldfish out of the tank? And then tearfully brought it to mum because it had died, and you had “only wanted to play with it”? It broke my heart, how tender and pure your heart was.
And I always worried about you. “Who will teach him that stoves are hot? Or that knives are dangerous?”
The thoughts of my young mind were all about protecting you.
But it turns out, you lived for risks. You loved freely and constantly got yourself hurt. In nearly every picture we have of you, you’ve got a broken arm and a grin that barely fits your face.
Always smiling, always moving. Always loving, and loving living.
You were a rare kind of person.
And then the accident. The traumatic brain injury. It took you away from us. When it happened, you were never the same. Mentally, we lost you that day.
And for the next six years, you struggled. You fought. You did anything and everything to cope. Good things… And bad.
But you were still in there. I know you were. And I know you didn’t want to be that way.
And I have to believe that you did it to free yourself.
This life took you, unfairly broke you… And I truly believe you were too good to live long in this world.
And on June 19th, 2018, you finally said “Enough.”
Almost three months later. I can’t handle it. I ignore it. It feels unreal because I wasn’t there. I didn’t even get down there to see you until the funeral, an entire week later.
And as the loaded you out into the hearse, all I could think was a desperate plea:
“Don’t take him away!”
I had been struggling, before your accident. And in some twisted ways, I’n jealous that you did it first.
But in my quiet moments… In those moments when I think about it…
I am sad. With the deepest sorrow the heart can feel. It is so immense that I wonder if my heart’s still there. Somehow, it hasn’t vanished, collapsed under the weight of the pain and the grief.
I have regrets of course. That I didn’t get to hug you one last time. That my last text to you wasn’t “I love you.”
But I said it to you all your life. We had a deeper bond than I think most siblings get. And for that I am always deeply grateful. I acknowledge the blessing that it is.
But as deep as my love is, so is the pain. The sleepless nights. The tears. The missing you. The loneliness.
I don’t know how to handle the rest of my life.
You were only 21. And now… I’ll be spending our next birthday alone.
“Happy Birthday Sis.”
Every year, this has been my most treasured exchange with you. And now, you will never say it again.
My heart bleeds. My soul shatters. My mind breaks. Everything now is wrong.
And I have to live in a world without you now.
I love you so much. I always have. I always will.