One, Two, Three, Four

Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face?
Do you realize we're floating in space?
Do you realize that happiness makes you cry?
Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die?

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes,

let them know
You realize that life goes fast;
It's hard to make the good things last.
You realize the sun don't go down,
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round.

Do You Realize??

Do you realize that everyone you know
Someday will die?

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes,

let them know
You realize that life goes fast;
It's hard to make the good things last.
You realize the sun don't go down,
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round.

Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face?

Do You Realize??

A Hostage in the Mouth of Myth

"It came to this, then, sister? You deceived me?

The pyre meant this, altars and fires meant this?

What shall I mourn first, being abandoned? Did you

Scorn your sister's company in death?

You should have called me out to the same fate!

The same blade's edge and hurt, at the same hour,

Should have taken us off."

-Anna to Dido

Book IV of Virgil's The Aeneid

You'll believe in something else to relieve your emptiness

Why am I so depressed?

Your head will collapse if there's nothing in it & you'll ask yourself, "Where is My Mind?"

"These images, and many more, haunt me now, pecking away at my protective shell of denial until I stand defenseless in their wake. I now understand the meaning of the expression grief stricken; it accurately captures the punch-in-the-stomach reality I'm experiencing.

The grief is bigger than me now; it lingers around every corner, like a bully, waiting to pounce. I feel trapped, confused, and afraid. I keep expecting someone to come to the rescue, to drop from the sky in a red cape and scare off the bully, but no one seems to notice my trembling.

So I run. Instinct leads me to seek refuge in a safe place where I can begin to make sense of my loss. . .

The solitude brings relief; it becomes my shield, my healing remedy against the noise and the mindless chatter of the day that pierce my soul like a thousand tiny needles. . .

I climb into the car and sit for a moment in the darkness. I have an uneasy feeling, almost as if I've forgotten something. 'What is it?' I ask myself. 'What is it?'

And then, all at once, a memory flashes. . .

I hear [her] voice, clear and strong, always with a note of reassurance. I can feel what it's like to be with [her] -- that same easy, familiar presence I've known all my life.

And then, in an instant, it's gone. The memory vanishes as quickly as it came, slipping beneath the dark waters with the late afternoon sun.

I sit very still for several minutes, a flutter of grief rising in my chest. 'How can life go on without you?' I whisper as I start the engine and head for home.

. . . The shock and disbelief have given way to a sort of pining, a longing to see my [sister] just one more time. I find myself making a special effort to remember the little things. . .

Reorientation -- the period in which we begin to learn how to adjust to life without our brother or sister.

But how can I learn to live in a world that doesn't include my [sister]? All my life, I've always been my [sister's] sister; it's part of my identity, part of who I am. My [sister] is part of my past; we share a common history. And we had plans for the future. I must, therefore, shift my perspective and change many goals in order to assimilate [her] loss into my life. Needless to say, this is an emotionally painful process because it feels as if I'm weeding [her] out of my life, which only compounds my grief.

Reorientation is also taking place within my family of origin. Established roles begin to shift, and no one quite knows their place anymore. We try on our new roles, but they don't quite fit; we shuck them off uncomfortably, like old coats. . . [My sister's] many roles lie in a heap on the floor alongside a mound of unfulfilled dreams. . ."

Succotash My Balzak, Dipshiitake

"[Kelsey] and I kept each other awake very late. We laughed. Young sisters in a bed under the roof of their childhood home. Wind on the window.

How could anything less deserve to be destroyed?

I thought we would be awake all night. Awake the rest of our lives.

The space between our worlds grew.

It became difficult to tell when we were talking and when we were silent.

The hairs of our arms touched.

It was late, and we were tired.

We assumed there would be other nights.

[Kelsey]'s breathing started to slow, but I still wanted to talk.

She rolled onto her side.

I said, I want to tell you something.

She said, You can tell me tomorrow.

I had never told her how much I loved her.

She was my sister.

We slept in the same bed.

There was never a right time to say it.

It was always unnecessary.

The books in my father's shed were sighing.

The sheets were rising and falling around me with [Kelsey]'s breathing.

I thought about waking her.

But it was unnecessary.

There would be other nights.

And how can you say I love you to someone you love?

I rolled onto my side and fell asleep next to her.

Here is the point of everything I have been trying to tell you . . .

It's always necessary.

I love you . . ."

don't close your eyes; you might fall to pieces.

Today I'm wearing the same dress I wore on June 25th, 2009.

I've only worn it once in between, and it was for the AFED art auction.

Of course, I'm 10 pounds bigger than the first time I wore it, so I think I fill it out more now.

For some reason, yesterday and today have been a lot harder than Sunday was.

"Daddy, our baby's gone."

'You're allowed to be sad, but you aren't allowed to be too sad.

If you're always sad when you think about me, then how can you remember me?'