Recovering

Sitting here, on the 14th floor in the break room, the wind is pushing against the patio doors. It sounds across between someone is pulling violently on the door to be let in – which is creepy because it’s 4:44 in the morning, and I am alone – and a slam of a body hitting the pavement.

You come back to me when I least expect it. As often as I think of you, willingly, unabashedly, and as easily as I would scratch an itch, it’s the times when sounds and smells remind of your death that I find most shocking. When I’m reading a book and I heard a deafening thud, or walking down the street and it smells like worms, when I see someone who resembles you. Which I’ve been doing a lot of lately. Women I encounter and their faces are similar to yours. Bright smile, but sad, as well. I wonder if they, too, have a depression they’re hiding from the world. You come to me in these unexpected moments and it causes my heart to skip a beat. Like I’ve somehow forgotten the past 6 years. (Writing that down makes me pause. Has it only been six years? It feels like much longer. Like I’ve lived with you for the whole of my life)

I am grateful for your sister. I worry that my thoughts and feelings about you, that people don’t want to hear them. That my pain is a burden. That if I were to talk about you, how I feel, how I’m trying to cope, trying to recover, that I’d just be annoying them. That they would listen to me only because they feel guilty for not wanting to listen. And whether they actually feel this way or not, I don’t know. It’s my perception. But I know your sister doesn’t judge me. She’s there for me on a level I can’t even truly put into words. Its something I can’t describe at all. I know that we are forever bonded by you. It’s because of her that I was able to let go of so much pain. I was finally able to breathe when she emailed me. She brought me peace. A peace I never would have found on my own.

I am still recovering but I know that it’s ok. She makes it ok.

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