And here’s this one, too, even though I’m not entirely convinced that’s me on his chest.
I found these pictures when Brian and I moved into our new place, between the pages of a book I haven’t read in years. Don’t know why there were there, don’t know why I forgot about them. I don’t even remember seeing these pictures between the time they were taken and today.
It’s been nine years today, and I don’t think I’ve ever struggled this much with the idea that he’s just not here. My brother was nine when he died and he’s been gone nine years. Sometimes, I don’t know how to wrap my head around the idea that I live in a universe where something like that is possible. What do you know when you’re nine? How to add, and use the remote? How to pinpoint the exact moment that a tooth is ready to come out and not hang on by a thread - or, how to create that moment based on how badly you want three bucks?
I mean, I still don’t know that. It took me months to call the dentist and tell them that it might now, at twenty-one, be time to take my wisdom teeth out.
I don’t know. Last year, the anniversary came and went and I was fine. And the year before that, too. But this year is different. Brian and I left sunflowers for him on Saturday and I opted out of visiting him on Sunday, and then Sunday night I wanted to turn around, go back to Chicago, and sit with him for a while. But I don’t know what to say.
I try to be an advocate of grieving. I like the idea that you are allowed to grieve for as long as you want. But sometimes that makes me feel selfish. I mean, am I allowed to skip class because my father died nine years ago? And, well, on the other hand: should I want to go to class today?
Grief is confusing.
Because I will always remember him through the same eyes I had when I was twelve, and I don’t know him at twenty-one. And I don’t know what to do with that. I mean, there’s a whole mess of things related to grief that I don’t know how to compartmentalize, how to reason with, how to accept. Like, fear of another loss. Or, worse: fear that someone will willingly choose to leave me. And, you know, silly things. Like a walk down the aisle, if I’m ever lucky enough to be someone that gets married. Or things in between that, like learning how to sit beside his grave for more than three minutes.
And, I mean, is part of grief accepting and understanding that I will never have answers to those things? Or, are those answers that I have not yet found, which explains the way I still grieve? Or maybe it’s something in between.
I don’t know. What I really wanted to say is this: I like these pictures and I’m glad that they turned up this year.
