There are these moments.
Random moments. They’re not consistent in how, when, or why they happen. Whether they’re set off by a good memory, a bad memory, or anything at all.
But they are consistent. Because no matter what caused them, they lead to the same indescribable feeling. A pinch of utter despair? An ounce of heart-wrenching sadness?
It’s the feeling that goes along with one realization that to function, I push away. That I’ve tried to bury deep down in some dark cave in my soul. No matter how hard I try, though, sometimes the damn thing finds its way to the light. And for a brief moment, I face this reality, I cry, and then, I push it away.
I will never talk to her, again.
That’s it. Just that. That realization…is something that my brain, my heart – just doesn’t understand. Even after almost two years.
I know she’s gone. I know it. But, I just don’t get it.
I don’t think I ever will.
He may not be much to look at, but when I’m asked what I would grab if my house was set on fire… He’s the answer (presuming there aren’t living things also in the house). His arms are outstretched and his nose is permanently smooshed to the side because of nearly 31 years of hugging. I even have a tough time falling asleep sometimes, if I don’t wrap my arm around a pillow because I grew up sleeping with my arm around him (as an adult, sometimes – just sometimes – your teddy bear has to reside on a shelf so he’s not always an option).
When my sister visited for my birthday and graduation two years ago, she didn’t feel well and so was getting ready for bed early. She laid down and me and my mom were talking to her and figuring out who was going to sleep where in the house…and she asked if I had a pillow that she could hug…she said that since she grew up sleeping with her arm around her stuffed animal (a little brown monkey), she couldn’t fall asleep without wrapping her arm around something. I grabbed my teddy bear from the shelf and handed him to her – my mom faked a gasp. This was unprecedented – the sharing of my sacred friend. But, like I said…things had changed in those last months. I had started to learn how to be a sister…so I handed him over for the night.
I had never known that we had that in common. Until that day, I never knew we shared a silly trait from sleeping with stuffed animals way past childhood.
I hold onto this tiny bond we had with all my might.
This small moment of truly being sisters.