To my angel, Kimi,
I didn't write last year. I talked about you, but I didn't write.
It's not much to say, but at the time I was incredibly heartbroken and I knew even less what to do about being heart broken and free than I knew what to do with being heart broken and not free. Sometimes, I think I'm still there. But that I carry it in different way; carry it in the way that you carry empty boxes that once held something but you can't explain the shape, weight, depth color of it to anyone else, because it wasn't happening to them.
I think, sometimes, that the loss of people who change you fundamentally, changes you just as fundamentally.
You are my starling example. I should be grateful you don't know what I'm talking about, but I would wish you this yoke and weight to know the inescapable joy, endless love, that could fill every pore and make every moment of empty recollection worth it. Always, always worth it. Even when the tunnel out is long and winding and takes you to places and people you never knew to expect nor always know what to do with.
It's another year, for you and me. Here were are, again. You passed away fourteen years ago today. I never make it through the eighteenth without remembering. Something tried and heavy and true attaches itself and makes me remember without reminders, even if I haven't thought of it for a month. And then I look at the date, and I remember. Today. Your day. Then, I remember that it's our father's birthday, too.
I'm glad you died knowing the love and attempts of both your parents. I'm glad you never had to doubt him, or your worth in his eyes. I'm glad that I can think of you in flashes of blonde hair and green eyes, pink lace and baby dolls. I'm glad I can remember your dimples, and the awkward way you held a fist, like someone who'd never punched anyone ever. I open the can and all the little pieces of you fly our, filling all the edges of my chest with you. My marvel. My angel.
It never stops to hurting a little that people don't know you. That the people who knew you, in my life, when you were, keep dwindling down smaller and smaller by the year. None of the people I count as closest knew you, save our Mother, and Catherine, and kern. It's strange, that someone so influential in who I became, who I was, what I look back to as forming me, is more than half my life away now. That you will continue to drift like a lit lantern on the ocean, a little further each time I look back.
I miss you, and I love you. I don't forget you, even when the reasons to remember grow fewer. This is still your day, and these are still your letters. I miss you, and I love you, and no one has been my angel, or shown me how to live, how to love, be, choose, fight, accept the way you did.
Thinking of you tonight,
Your sister,
Amanda
[This entry was originally posted at http://wanderlustlover.dreamwidth.org/2198711.html. Comment on either at your leisure.]
It's not much to say, but at the time I was incredibly heartbroken and I knew even less what to do about being heart broken and free than I knew what to do with being heart broken and not free. Sometimes, I think I'm still there. But that I carry it in different way; carry it in the way that you carry empty boxes that once held something but you can't explain the shape, weight, depth color of it to anyone else, because it wasn't happening to them.
I think, sometimes, that the loss of people who change you fundamentally, changes you just as fundamentally.
You are my starling example. I should be grateful you don't know what I'm talking about, but I would wish you this yoke and weight to know the inescapable joy, endless love, that could fill every pore and make every moment of empty recollection worth it. Always, always worth it. Even when the tunnel out is long and winding and takes you to places and people you never knew to expect nor always know what to do with.
It's another year, for you and me. Here were are, again. You passed away fourteen years ago today. I never make it through the eighteenth without remembering. Something tried and heavy and true attaches itself and makes me remember without reminders, even if I haven't thought of it for a month. And then I look at the date, and I remember. Today. Your day. Then, I remember that it's our father's birthday, too.
I'm glad you died knowing the love and attempts of both your parents. I'm glad you never had to doubt him, or your worth in his eyes. I'm glad that I can think of you in flashes of blonde hair and green eyes, pink lace and baby dolls. I'm glad I can remember your dimples, and the awkward way you held a fist, like someone who'd never punched anyone ever. I open the can and all the little pieces of you fly our, filling all the edges of my chest with you. My marvel. My angel.
It never stops to hurting a little that people don't know you. That the people who knew you, in my life, when you were, keep dwindling down smaller and smaller by the year. None of the people I count as closest knew you, save our Mother, and Catherine, and kern. It's strange, that someone so influential in who I became, who I was, what I look back to as forming me, is more than half my life away now. That you will continue to drift like a lit lantern on the ocean, a little further each time I look back.
I miss you, and I love you. I don't forget you, even when the reasons to remember grow fewer. This is still your day, and these are still your letters. I miss you, and I love you, and no one has been my angel, or shown me how to live, how to love, be, choose, fight, accept the way you did.
Thinking of you tonight,
Your sister,
Amanda
[This entry was originally posted at http://wanderlustlover.dreamwidth.org/2198711.html. Comment on either at your leisure.]