Another Day

I went to work yesterday. Lots of new candles and soaps are out, so nothing is familiar. I broke down a few times, but told them I'd keep it together and finish my shift. They're all so supportive, though, which is one of the reasons I love my job. It's just hard going back to "normal" when nothing is "normal". I feel guilt and anger and regret and sadness and all the other things bereavement brings. It's going to get easier. I know it is. But, that relief feels so far away. Everything smells of her. She loved the glitter mist and it's like part of her is there.

My birthday passed. Zac's did, too. Emily came over for my birthday and gave me a three-tier pumpkin snow globe. She had been holding onto it for a few weeks. She sat on my sofa and played with the kittens and we talked about her starting work with me soon. Then her memorial was on Zac's birthday, just two weeks later.

The memorial was depressing, though the "viewing" day was a nightmare. I didn't go. I knew I'd never be able to go and it was something she and I had talked about in the event she died. I was being pushed by my siblings and mother to go see her "one last time". They used guilt and even tried to corner Jena, Zac, and Alex to convince me to go. What would seeing her do? Would it bring closure to me? Would I feel at peace? Fuck no. There is no closure in her death. Closure means you close it off, you're done. Over it. I won't be over this as long as I'm living. I won't have peace with her gone. I'm going to be sad. I won't always grieve like this, but the sadness will stay with me. Maybe the anger will, too. That's all I'm feeling right now: anger and sadness. And I'll never know "why".

Mom brought over a few of Emily's things this morning. It was hard going through them, but I decided to keep a few things like the knitting needles I gave her and some balls of yarn, but I gave Leah the nail polish. There are more boxes, but Mom's going to try to rent a Uhaul sometime in the near future. Alex is going to come by when he's ready to take anything back home.

Meanwhile, the days are going by and I'm sad and there hasn't been much to write about right now. Bear with me.

Devastated.

I am standing upon that foreshore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails in the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength and I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, "There! She's gone!"

"Gone where?"

"Gone from my sight, that's all."

She is just as large in mast and spar and hull as ever she was when she left my side; just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of her destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at that moment when someone at my side says, "There! She's gone!" there are other eyes watching her coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"

I lost my beautiful baby sister, Emily, yesterday to suicide. She struggled quietly for years with depression and mental illness and it became too much for her sweet soul to bear. In her world of so much darkness, she always reflected light. I am so lost without her and don't know how I will get through the rest of my life without my best friend by my side. She was forever loved, she'll be forever missed. Rest peacefully, my love, until I see you again.

Emily Jean

September 10, 1985 - November 15, 2017