Grief

I've read there are stages of grief.    My darling sister died a year ago.   I'm angry, mostly.   It's not fair.    It was fast.   We weren't ready.   None of us. 

A part of my heart, childhood, memory, pain, laughter and all we did and had and went through together is gone.  

Plans we made, trips to take, places to live and share and grow old together, but not too close together; they are all dashed.   Forever on the drawing board.   I don't know that we would have lived in halves of a duplex, but the point is, we COULD HAVE.   And now we can't.   Ever.   

I have to continue.   To go on.  

But I'm still angry.    Not at her.    Though we fought sometimes.   Scratching, kicking, full out hair pulling fights.    And we didn't always see eye to eye.   But when it came down to the tough times, the bad days at work, the frustrating family gatherings... we were always there for one another.

I miss her.  I miss the feeling that I should be calling her more.   I miss her stories about her friends.   I miss her postcards from business trips. 

I'm working on these things.   I'm trying to feel like doing more than existing.   I'm trying to have more energy than it takes to just get through the day.  

I love you Karen.    I miss you.    I know it's selfish.  I know you are happy and at peace.   You have no more questions.  No more airport security, itchy tags, wet bathroom floors, pain, upset stomach, vegetables you don't like and people who piss you off.  

We have no more truth, no more force to push us through.   No more moral compass, no more laughing and late night snacks.  

You have entered a line of strong, kind women who went before.  Who taught us the right way to fold fitted sheets and iron shirts.   To bake cakes and cookies, bandage scrapes and make people feel welcome and loved.   You still lead us with your spirit.  

One foot in front of the other.