Just got back from a walk with the pups. I walked on my old trail…you know, the one I walked on nonstop when you first died. Listening to my old playlist titled “Chris.” And I just let myself feel. Which is something I don’t allow myself to do as much. I explained why in the last letter. It just hurts too fucking much. Pretending you’re still here is so much easier than accepting that you’re not.
But…even though everything in me ached for you on that walk, I felt at home. My heartache, listening to that playlist on our trail, it just felt so familiar. Comfortable in a way. And for the first time in months, I felt like myself. Months. It was as though I’d gone back in time, to last spring when you still felt so close. You’ve felt so far away the last few months, and I know that’s my fault. I’ve pushed you away because I just can’t do this. I’m no closer to figuring out how to live without you than I was last spring. If anything, I feel even more lost. Because, somehow, you’ve been gone from this earth for almost 365 days. And it’s not going to end. You’ll just keep being gone.
Do you have any, any, idea how much that sucks?
When you first died, you felt so far away and yet so close. I knew you were right there by me. I received so many signs. Unmistakable signs that you were still here. My TV turning on by itself almost every night. Smelling your shampoo in my room randomly. You waking both Mom and me by (not so gently) tapping our faces. My dog seeing something walking around my room. I haven’t gotten one in so long. I need one now, Chris. Please. Show me you haven’t left my side. I know I don’t deserve it, because I’ve pushed you away. I’m so sorry. I just cannot accept your death. How can I? You being gone makes me realize how much I failed you as your big sister. And I cannot forgive myself for that. I can’t.
So. I’ll be going home in three weeks for Dad’s 70th and your birthday. I think I already told you that. I want to go home. And I dread it. Just facing it again. Sitting on the couch where Mom and Nikea sat while waiting to hear back from the police exactly a year before. No. I know I’ll get through it. But I don’t want to have to.
God. See? It’s so much easier to not feel. But then I miss you too much. I don’t know which is worse. Feeling like this…or not feeling at all.
Get us through the next couple months, Buddy. Please. I can’t do it alone.