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.
