I miss you. I know I said it would be okay if you had to go, but I'm not okay. I feel like I am just stumbling around. In six months, there has not been a single day I haven't thought about you.
They say it gets better. I will feel better. I will heal. It gets easier. They say to think of how you are now. You are better. You are not suffering. You can finally rest.
The truth is though, I am not better, I am not healing, it is no easier. I'm glad you aren't suffering, but it does little to comfort me. I feel alone when I am surrounded by people, but all I want is to be left alone.
I try to make you proud. To live in a way I think would honor you. There is you in every thing I do, even in the way I sign my name. I wish that we'd had more time for you to teach me more things so I could do them like you. Thank you for the things you did teach me. I usually think of the concrete things: how to kick a ball, how to swing a bat, how to chip out of a sand trap, how to use a computer, play games, shoot a rifle... and a bb gun, how to fish, to read, to wrap a Christmas present the "dad way". But within each lesson, there was something more: how to be a leader, a teammate, a big sister, how to be patient, inventive, competitive but still have fun, how to be relaxed, but focused, and how to give, and give, and give.
I have to remind myself daily to keep it together keep it together keep it together. I can do this. Keepittogether keepittogether keepittogether. I don't know if I can do this. I have lost some parts of myself. I don't have the patience I used to have. The understanding. I don't feel like I am sensitive to others the way I was before. I am angry a lot. And I am sad always.
Not a lot is new, I guess. We found a dog, named her Dot. I got the head Soccer job in theory, but nothing has been made official yet. I'm on a technology committee, it's alright. I'm coaching basketball next year, I'm nervous. You know it was never my strong sport. Apparently, no one runs Box1 or Box2 in-bounds any more. No Stack plays either. Maybe I'll bring it back old school style. I don't think I'll carry on the family tradition of being ejected from the game. I'm still scared to get in trouble, even from a ref. I'm trying out writing. I'm not as good at it as you were, but I'm practicing. It's hard to write about other things. I'm mostly a journaler. I mostly just read.
I wish you were still here, but here and healthy. I wish we never had to do any of this. They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and I keep waking up each new day. I should be the strongest woman alive by now, though I'm not totally sure I would call this feeling "alive", and a part of me left when you died.
I miss you. I hope I see you again.