14 years

                     Yesterday was hard.  It is always hard.  It seems like after 14 years, it would be less hard, but it isn’t.  It might even get harder as the years go by.  Or maybe the amount of grief I have is the same, but it is expressed in more intense but less frequent episodes.  The anticipation of this day once consumed me, but now it almost slips up on me.  I feel safe expressing my sadness now, where once I feared that if a tear fell from my eye, I would lose control of myself and drown in my sorrow. 

                  I have also come to feel righteousness in my grief.  I’m not asking anything of anyone.  Just one day a year, let me lie around and feel sorry for myself.   Let me reflect.  Don’t be alarmed if I cry a few times.  I have a right to miss someone I love.  I not only miss someone I loved, but I miss having someone who loved me.  I had no doubts.  I know my brother loved me.  He knew me.  He believed in me.  He wanted good things for me.  He would have done anything for me.  He never failed me when I needed him.  The only good thing about the passing of years since he died is that it means there are fewer years left until I see him again.