2-22

It’s been five years, (eerily almost to the exact hour) since my beautiful baby sister, all of 22 years old, took her final breath on this Earth.

I’ve spent five years holding my breath on this day. Five years acknowledging that its approaching, while pretending to ignore that automatic dread that creeps up alongside it as it nears. I’ve spent five years on this date, writing about how much I regret, or how much I hurt. How much she’s missed, or how much better off she surely is.

William Shakespeare wrote, “Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o’er wrought heart and bids it break.”

I’ve spent five years giving sorrow words.

Five years trying to capture how I’m feeling and sharing it with others. For others. For myself. To look back on, or just remember or record. To warn, or encourage someone else to be more, to do more, reach out more. To LOVE more. More than you do. More than you think you can, or want to. Or wish for. Because once you’ve lost someone, you can’t do it over.

Every year I mention what I’ve learned, or what I’ve accepted. About the world, about life. Grief. Regret. Hurt. I try to speak to those that might be like me. Stubborn. Emotional. Fragile. Broken. Beautiful. Damaged. Depressed. To try to encourage them to love more, while they can, rather than to write about regretting it later.

And afterwards, I fold up my grief, put it away, and repeat the process whenever it finds itself randomly strewn across my lap.

Today, five years later…..

It doesn’t feel lighter. It feels further, but not lighter. It’s not less to carry, it’s just further away and therefore harder to reach. I don’t miss her less, or think of her less. I think of her like she’s a little further away. A little more over there. Or, there. Maybe a little more everywhere. Obviously, not where I wish she was….But somewhere out there, just out of reach, just out of view. Just over my shoulder. Not on it,but over it.

But, I’m doing okay with it. I think we all are. We’ve accepted it. We’ve moved on from it. I think we’ve stopped letting it hold us down, and are starting to reach that part where it’s starting to lift us up. To her, with her, for her. Something.

Its beautiful. But beauty is often littered with pain. And so we all hurt in our own ways. Our own moments.

Cuz, even though it’s been five years, and our lives have led us to wherever they have, you dont lose a sibling and just get over it. You carry it with you. You just do. You just fucking do. But, if you’re lucky, you’re able to use it all to motivate you. To propel you forward. Onward. Upward. Hell, backwards if that’s where you wanna go.

Over the last year, I’ve lost my way. I’ve stopped letting it propel me.

I’ve hit rock bottom. And most people don’t even know it. They don’t know how close I’ve been to bending so far I’ve broken. How close I’ve been to being too far to come back from.

I’m headed down the same self destructive road she was on. Not the exact same road, but one equally as dangerous. And it hit me like a ton of bricks today that five years after her death, my sister is still inspiring me. Today, I needed a kick in the ass. And, realizing what I’m doing to myself only came about, because of her.

I can’t say I’m in a good place today, But I know ill be in a better place tomorrow, because of thoughts inspired by her. By today. By this blog. By this moment.

And its so perfect, because I know she knows exactly what I mean, and that’s really all that this is about.

I love you little sister. Always.

I’m so sorry that noone else in the world will ever get to know your big,beautiful, stubborn ass heart.

But you have changed me, and mine. Thank you.