It’s been 54 days since you left us. We have good and bad days, good and bad moments within those days. My perspective has shifted so much that I live minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day now. If I feel like this, I can’t even begin to imagine what our mother feels like. Or our sisters. Or brother. I’ve witnessed the entire spectrum of human emotion since you left us. Sorrow. So heavy, never lifting, constant companion sorrow. Anger. White hot, unrelenting, threatening to consume her anger. Grief. She keeps telling herself you’re on vacation. She waits for you to walk in the door. She longs for your smile, your laugh. One who cannot process what he saw; who cannot let it go and move on. Who will not, maybe ever. One who retreats even deeper into herself; unreachable. Who live in fear now. Who can’t sleep at night. Who curl up in the closet because the grief is unbearable. Who don’t want to be left alone anymore. Who can’t talk about the pain. Who have nightmares.
Your absence changes everything. In ways I didn’t even know were possible.
I’m angry today, can you tell? Last night it was sorrow. Bone-deep, gut-wrenching sadness. Out of nowhere, at the end of a pretty good day, it hit me.
My brother is gone. Gone.
You made a choice. You chose to leave us. And now we’re left to deal with the aftermath of your decision.
Your death makes me question things I thought I was sure of. Fundamental, who I am and what I know to be true things. So today, I choose anger. Because there are still some things that I get to choose.
I miss you. We all miss you. I wish…so many things. But most of all I wish I had called you that day.
I should have called…
I am so sorry I didn’t call.
