I couldn't sleep last night. Not because of my upcoming move to Florida, not because of mom's move out of our house into an apartment, but because of March, because of the upcoming three year anniversary, because of all the untouched memories and feelings I have repressed.
Awaking every hour, I imagined and anticipated the long day ahead of me. I thought about you, the life you could have had, the life I could have had, and the life that I have created for myself since you died. In the darkness of the night, where my dreams and nightmares stayed hidden, I went over each time I have felt you. Whether it be your favorite song or a commercial, each and every "sign" that I've come across, I thought was from you. Last night, that died. I came to the conclusion that these so called signs were just coincidences and my minds way of trying to keep you alive. These signs were in fact just random bits floating into my life for no particular reason, holding no significance.
Then at 6:35 am- an hour since I had risen- Storypeople sent me their daily email. This one holding particular significance.
This saying is one that I use from spring break, the spring break that you died. Comforted by these words, I knew that today wouldn't be as bad as I had anticipated.
I could not have been more wrong.
Crying is an understatement, balling my eyes out seems to describe my state for the past two hours. Sick to my stomach and head aching, I can't seem to stop. These tears just keep on coming with no end in sight. With moments of just a few glistening tears, I realize that these tears are in fact tears of anger, hurt, and hatred instead of sadness.
My tears of anger and hatred are my defense. These tears I can handle. It's the tears of hurt that frighten me. They scare me the most.
Since your death, Michael, pain and hurt have filled my life. Mostly because of you. Our family, the one who you called every day, the one who claimed her love for me, turned on us. Just a few days before the three year anniversary, mom and I have to be out of our house. The house where we have lived our entire life, the house that holds so many of my memories, the house that holds you. Eventually, I knew that we would give up this house but the forcefulness of this move, the timing of it- she did it on purpose. Avoiding life, she is using her feelings against the ones she once loved. As bitter and mean as this sounds, I could care less about my relationship with her. I care more about this house and what it has represented to me for the past twenty-one years. Mostly I am scared. Scared to give up our house, for once I leave what if all of my memories of you disappear along with it?
Mom isn't the same either. Professionally, personally, and with family she strikes. Lashing out, she thinks that she is the only one affected but she has brought me down too. Her world is crumbling and I, the builder, the carpenter, the cementer, am trying to fix what's broken. Realizing all too late that I am unable to help. Whatever is left in mom is not savable. She is a sinking ship and I bear the burden of silently watching.
This leads me to you, Michael. I knew that day we were making a mistake. I just wasn't brave enough to voice it. Had I, would it even have mattered? Would you have even heard me? You were so sure and dead set that even me, the one you loved, couldn't have changed your mind. My pleading, wanting, and needing would have gone unnoticed. There was nothing I could do. Now, I'm left in the dust feeling the guilt, loneliness, and resentment while you fly. Never to feel free again, the twisting and turning of my feelings is a knife that jabs, leaving my already broken heart shattered and leaving no hope
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No fears and limitless, MHF
