Departed trail & Bitter trials.

Jumping ahead to the meat of my life in a summarized manner. After the parties, my sister was left with my brother in law. He had built a beautiful stand for my sister; with a hanging black and white portrait of her beautiful braced smile. Of course there were sunflowers by her urn. Mementos from friends and family for her. I won’t lie, my brother built a similar one in the living room. I now and then say hi to both but when my brother in law leaves; I sit and stare at my big sister and cry.

I’m not supposed to show or share my hurt but God is “it” so much that it destroys me otherwise if I don’t let it out in some manner. The old me would prefer to present some farce that I was alright. Go off to workout while letting the blood boil in me till I popped, fall to the floor and cry. I wouldn’t tell anyone and just seclude myself and never show or let it out when it needs to. That’s how bad things happen for me.

I don’t want anything to happen because I don’t want to hurt my sister again. She may have passed, but I still feel as though I can still hurt her. Still makes her cry. Still makes her voice shake in pain as she says my name in anguish, having found me yet again in my old habits of self hurt and resistance to letting anyone in. I let her down so much that I feel guilty for anything progressive in my life, like if she hadn’t died I would be trying so hard to become a better person for her. 

Would I go back to school now, only because that’s the last thing we fought about and what I keep dreaming about. Would I have read half the Bible if it wasn’t for needing something to believe when she was about to leave. So much self shaming and burning guilt. I wonder if anything I get isn’t because of her not being here. The facts say so, within reason she is the purpose of me writing this long outlet of my mourning.

Yet another reason I’m indebted to my sister. Hell, when I got out of the hospital for trying to kill myself, that was the first thing my sister did for me. She bought notebooks and pens for me to use. She did that while my brothers took anything that could be used as a weapon away; which pretty much made it clear I fucked up in their eyes or at least that’s how I saw it. I know, I know, believe me, I know my brothers are trying to be helpful to me.

Before, I couldn’t sit in the same room as my brothers without feeling judged in my head. Now I can talk to them freely about my pain, and the same goes for them sharing their tears over Priscilla passing. We all take moments to cry, to mourn, and be alone with that sorrow or even wake up to; I know my mother does. I regularly talk to her as well; and to be candid, I share more with her than my brothers because she is second in line of people I can share great information with. Because covid made things hard for us, she doesn’t go to work till she gets vaccinated so it’s been over a year since she has worked.

I guess that just gives her more free time to remember that her eldest daughter is gone. I can’t help but remember the times they fought in front of me with words and actual fists. Screaming of this or that, where the comb was, or was she wearing my moms bra and eyeliner. The things we cry about when you think of the dead. When you think of my sister, I hope you think about the few things I shared because I want to keep the rest for me, as my own self present to myself.

I also feel my family wants to keep a few privileges to ourselves, not to mention the funny ones. God there were funny ones, stupid ones, and ones that leave questions as to why my sister did the things that she did. Especially getting a tattoo that says “will work for booze.” My sister was my sister, no better way to remember her, besides smiling. I wish for more, I wish she could hold the babies of friends and family.

I wish she could be a real blood mother to a baby girl, I know she would like to have one. More importantly I wish she  could be a grandmother and I wish to smell the hairs of her kids as well as see her face or attitude in them. Such things I pray and wish for, when I sit in her room. More often I expect her there. 

>Section: 2

“Dear Heavenly Father and in Jesus Christ name I pray, help me speak to my sister. Let me hear some words that I don’t remember her saying to me like my name; or every funny nickname she liked to use on me to show I was the little brother that she picked on from the heart. Another thing I wouldn’t want to hear her yelling at my niece to comb her hair. As well as, maybe, it would be nice to stop hearing her entering the house in a loud tone saying “Hi Bitches,” also every other thing she shouted when she came home. I pray for something new to hear and pray I don’t forget her voice.

Help me lord, I always forget things like a goldfish. I don’t want to forget this. I just want a new conversation with her is all. Sit down talking like it once was for us when she would lay on the bed with a computer light bouncing off her glasses as she multi-tasked some work she brought home; as well as talking to me. I cry about this the most, which I believe I made it clear she was a big person that I was close to. Please Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ name I pray, amen.”

>Section: 3

I often pray for family peace and unity besides for my sister, I mean I can’t really help my family on my own behalf so I have to try as I can and commit the rest to God. In these times it’s easy to quiver one’s faith even those who don’t believe in anything; and the extreme ones that tattoo something like God or the cross burning in demonic services, they even question things. I mean what powers are there in the universe that can take away the ones that loved us while we hurt others and ourselves. They see us being selfishly taking what we want but happily give us what we need. It’s like being imprisoned to life’s looming lying claim that we can be happy, that we can live peacefully, or at all.