Year 3

You died today, three years ago. Which is when I wrote down this date with a brief note. Katrina died. Yeah, that was all I could fit inside, on the month and date in this small box with a space below your exit time. So it’s there. Centered, where I scribbled down inside, an end date for my sister, my first friend in this life. I can’t believe a calendar can remain so calm when all I do is document days when humans celebrate another year around the sun. Or a painful return to a paralyzing reminder of a human whose time stopped before today began. June, always an unwelcome with you. I have been seeing her in many different places, even showing up in my reflection. Must be because I have been trying not to face it. As it approached the day your spirit was lifted and your human body interrogated. It’s like every time this date jets back around I’m barely picking myself up from the last time I was in fetal position on the ground. Where’s the sweet spot for when this grief stops and I can look at a calendar without hearing tick-tock? I’m sure I’ve forgiven you and myself, so why is your death and absence still making me feel so unwell? Guess it goes back to the fact I love you forever and more, so this date will make my heart sore and my spirit mourn. I just wish I could hug you just once more. I’m just a human and even if I could take this pain away, I wouldn’t. It’s you. It’s a reminder I had you. Lived in the same womb after you, made memories after that with you, laughed with you, and cried with you, it’s the unfair reminder you were 1 and I was 2. Another three hundred and sixty-five without you. 2,3,4, need a one. Mom misses you with every last ounce of her, that she can. I look forward to starting back where it all began. See you when my dial ends.