H for Happy Birthday

I should be celebrating my sister’s 22^nd birthday today (or at least this upcoming weekend). She, my middle sister, my cousin-friend, and I should all be getting together this Friday to go out for dinner and drinks like we did a few weeks ago for my middle sister’s birthday. We should be laughing until we nearly cry; probably over something completely and totally ridiculous that in retrospect isn’t anywhere near as hilarious as we think it is in our celebratory state. But we’re not, because she’s not here. A selfish, pathetic, ridiculously weak, sociopath took her life a little over two years ago.

(Photo taken less than a month before her death; She had taken Li'l D to get his 2 year old pictures done. The fabulous people at Sears let my sister and I pick these pictures up, and upon hearing the story of her death, gave us a CD of all the images along with a photo release.)

I am angry and I am sad. And that’s actually a huge understatement, but I can’t quite find the words to say what I’m really feeling. My brain is crowded by thoughts and emotions that are swirling out of control.

She should’ve been at Li’l D’s 4^th birthday bash on Sunday. She’d be so proud of her “little man.” He’s getting so big, and he’s becoming his own person; complete with a huge personality, thousand-watt smile, and plenty of attitude just like his momma. She only got to be his mommy in person for a little under two years, and that’s just not fair. To him, to her, or to any of us. Her beautiful son will sing “Happy Birthday” to his mommy’s picture, like he’s does every year since she’s been gone; he'll blow out the candles on her birthday cake for her, and he'll release balloons into the air with a happy birthday message for his mommy.

(Auntie Elle and Darion celebrating his 4th birthday!)

(Happy 4 year old!!)

My emotional outbursts/crying jags happen far less regularly now than they used to, but days like today are harsh reminders of the wounds I carry hidden away from most of the rest of the world. Tonight I might surrender to my grief, allowing the hard, body-shaking sobs to come. Music Man will hold me and comfort me, whispering into my hair that he loves me and that he misses her too. He barely got to know her, but in the short time that he did, he loved her. Everyone did. That’s the kind of person she was.

It’s not that I’d rather grieve than try to celebrate her life; it’s that I can’t tonight. I just don’t have it in me. I have a nasty head cold, so I’m already physically exhausted, which just seems to intensify my emotions—especially the negative ones. Sometimes, surrendering to the emotions is just the easiest thing. Emotionally spent and physically exhausted, I’ll head to bed early hoping that she hears me wishing her a happy birthday.

I’ll remember the good times we had.  I’ll think about what I miss and what I’ll continue to miss. I remember her contagious laugh—the one that would’ve gotten us all started this weekend; we would’ve collapsed into giggling fits right in the middle of the restaurant, not caring about who might be staring at us or questioning our sanity. I want to hear it again—that laugh—but it’s fading now. I can’t hear it in my mind like I used to be able to. I miss her hugs; she gave the best hugs. Now, I barely remember what it felt like to have her arms around me, and my heart physically hurts when I recall our last hug, which was far, far too long ago.

It seems too soon for these memories to be gone, or so faded, and the feeling of loss is made worse by the knowledge that I will never again hear her laugh or feel her hugs. There’s no way to recapture these things once they’re gone.

It’s moments like these, where I sit and think and wish and wonder, that I am overcome with emotion. Life isn’t fair!!! I know it’s not supposed to be, and that no one ever promised that it was, but this feels like a ridiculous level of unfair. She was only 19. She was a mother, daughter, sister, aunt, cousin, niece, granddaughter, and friend. She was loved and cared about, and as the youngest of my siblings, she was fawned over. She shouldn’t be gone, and she most definitely shouldn’t have died the way that she did.

It’s all a bitter reminder that life is short, and yet it feels too long as well. Two years without her has been hard, excruciatingly so at times. I miss her every single day. Somedays it hurts more than others; days like today are a prime example. I can’t imagine the rest of my life without her, so I have no choice but to take life day by day until the pain subsides again and I feel stronger.

Happy birthday, baby sister. You are gone, but never forgotten. I love you and miss you more than I could ever say. Wherever you are, I hope that you are happy and at peace. I know that you watch over your little man, and I can only imagine how much your heart swells with pride over what a fantastic little boy he is. I hope that you always know how much you are loved. I look forward to seeing you again someday—we’ll have a lot of catching up to do. I can’t wait to hear that fabulously contagious laugh, to see that giant beautiful smile, and to feel your most fantastic hugs.

            Love always and forever,

            Your big sister