It’s been two years since your passing. Lately I find myself obsessively trying and failing to remember in specific detail what it was we were doing those last precious days before our world fell apart. I’m sure we were busy managing the mundane stressors of life, never dreaming in our wildest nightmares that 24 months later we’d be standing here, gathered with family in a small ceremony to commit your ashes to a final resting place. Time does nothing to ease this pain. I want to scream into the void, certain that if done loudly and passionately enough, I can somehow shatter its barriers. Hurtling through the past, I like to envision my voice somehow breaks through. Its echoes received, warning us of the coming storm.
How much has changed since you’ve been gone. You would be so proud of your brother. No longer a kid he has recently graduated and is changing into such an amazing young man inside and out. And yet, I can’t help but find myself smile as he rolls through life in his steam-roller style, unintentionally banging and crashing through any poor obstacles unfortunate to find themselves in his path. Paired with a voice that (inherited from me) carries across oceans, these moments bring back memories in my head as I hear you yelling at him to stop being so loud. And each time I reprimand him for a half-hearted hug another memory surfaces.
I see you in our dining room walking him through the steps of a proper embrace, laughing as you stand on your tippy-toes doing your best to reach your arms around his tall frame, giving him a hard time each step of the way.
Your things are still in your room, many placed just as you left them. The white string of Christmas lights you hung in a zig zag on your wall no longer lights up, but you’d be happy to know that the simple push pins you insisted on using, despite my warnings they would not hold, have proven me wrong. The cord remains solidly in place and the clothespins you so carefully selected are still attached gripping your many colorful scarves and hats. The gemstone purchased from your favorite store Earthbound, still works. Faithfully glowing with its softly alternating colors it remains plugged-in on top of your prized record player under the sign you designed, a message from you now echoing across planes telling us to “Choose the people who choose you”. Your white tree, the very one Salem would relentlessly try to climb and use as a scratching post in your Denton apartment, has been moved back into its original spot next to your bed right by the makeup stains still coloring the carpet, and one can often find me plugging it in to feel your presence among its twinkling lights.
Many of your friends have graduated college now. Their pictures on social media tugging at my heart as I battle both unspeakable love and shared pride for their accomplishments against simultaneous grief for your missing post declaring similar acclaim. But that is not to be…
Forever 20 years and 8 months old, we will always be left to wonder what the future version of you would have been, what you’d be up to today if those files hadn’t slipped off the seat of that truck. Would you be into your second year of grad school? Or securing a travel abroad study opportunity like you were always determined to do? Would we be listening to your voice on some small unknown (but soon to be known) podcast as you continued to flex your journalistic muscles? To think that such a simple and meaningless distraction could result in the loss of your’s and Lauren’s lives is beyond comprehension. And that life has had the audacity to move on as if nothing ever happened, feels like a slap in the face from the universe itself. A personal affront I will never be able to understand, much less forgive.
It’s been 730 days since our last FaceTime call. More than 17,000 hours since your beautiful face filled my screen in a meaningful way. I’m now left to settle instead with the bits and pieces of you left behind, much of this in the form of digital pictures found on my phone. Taken in “live mode” I often find myself fascinated as many of these images appear to magically capture a real and unguarded snippet of time similar to those from the Harry Potter movies we both shared a love for. But magical or not, these fall utterly short as a substitute for you.
You are so loved and missed, always in our thoughts from the first seconds the fog of sleep clears our heads until the moment weariness pulls us back under again. As time determinedly moves forward, finding my balance is proving to be harder and harder as I keep one foot solidly planted in the moment of your loss.
Despite it all, we have managed to find moments of light and it’s in this blog, inspired by and dedicated to you, that I have found a meaningful way to keep your memory alive. And so I write once again, this time to mark your 2nd heavenly anniversary, not only for my sake, but to give words to all those who share the same overwhelming grief over this senseless loss. It’s through these writings I aim to honor my pledge to you, whether I live only one more day or 50 more years, you will not be forgotten. I will proudly and unapologetically carry the banner of your existence, sharing your stories of kindness, love, humor and compassion until my dying day. Your presence will not only be remembered but felt as long as I have breath in my lungs. Sleep well my beautiful angel. I love you to the moon and back -Mom
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