The first few years it was hard to write anything at all... writing was apart of me, it was a piece of who I was. There was a point where I was convinced that part would forever be gone. ...Now I have only been able to get it back on the worst month of the year. And I'm only ever able to write about devastation and loss. I'm only ever able to write about the single thing forever leaving a hole in my heart.
I hate the month of April. From the very first day of it, until the last. My heart gets heavy, and invades the inside of my chest until it feels like I can no longer breathe. ...And then it shatters. It shatters into a million pieces and each shard cuts the wounds and hurts and pains that are hidden within the depths of me until it's all I can do but cry. Usually alone... at 3:00 in the morning, locked in the car, listening to some dumb song my sister would of annoyingly played on repeat until I wanted to rip my ears off my head. Or alone, on the couch, in my living room, long after the rest of my perfect little family has fallen fast asleep, watching My Sisters Keeper and hating the fact that sisters can't always stay with you forever. And once all the little shards of my heart are buried so deep in my pain, they all gather back together and the swelling and heaviness starts all over.
All. Month. Long.
And 18 days into the month I'll go to bed pretending I don't know what tomorrow is, until it comes. ...Until I'm lying there playing the whole horrible day over and over in my mind. 8 years. In just a week it'll be 8 years and still every detail is so vivid. So painfully vivid. I can still feel the rocks from the dirt digging into my legs when I fell to the ground. I still remember the way the voices around me became mumbled and low, the way the world slowly faded away and all I could do was picture my beautiful little sisters face from the last time I seen her. I remember being carried to the car, the long ride home, and opening the house door to find my mothers face and becoming weak all over again.
Every year, on that day, it is so incredibly hard to get up. It's so hard to remember anything beautiful and wonderful about my sister because all I can think about is her absence. All I can think about is the couch that sucked me in and the pillow that caught all my tears, and the funeral home, and the casket... and all our friends and family trying so hard to find the words to say to make us smile if only but for a brief moment. I remember the day she was taken from me more then I can remember her laughter. I can remember the pain I felt in that single moment more then I can remember her arms wrapped around me from that one last hug the last time I seen her...
Its coming. The worst day of the year is creeping in and I can't stop it. I know how its going to be... how its going to feel... and I can't change it. And no matter how many things I pack into my day to keep my mind off of it, around every corner where there's silence or every second where I'm trapped alone, it'll be there. Waiting for me. I can already feel the walls caving in around me...
