When you are caring for someone with a terminal illness, it still doesn’t prepare you for losing them. You do get the opportunity to say or do things you might not have if their passing was sudden. But there is nothing that gets you ready.
When we were given a “time” (my sister did ask the doctor) of 6 -12 months, my sister and I had another one of our long talks. No more bullshit. No more holding back.
Here was me, thinking that’s what we were already doing. But she was referring to us actually talking about her dying. What that was going to be, what we would do, etc.
“Kate, we have to have ‘the talk’. We have to start getting you ready.”
There was no getting me ready. I was going to keep loving the way I was. Like there was no tomorrow. It is impossible to fathom she thought she could ever have prepared me for this. For right now.
My sister has been gone four months today.
It’s hard to sleep. Sleeping means another whole day has passed without you. Another day we didn’t laugh. Another day we didn’t piss each other off. Another night I have to rely on a dream to hear your voice.
It’s hard to wake up. Waking up means, most mornings I have to remind myself you aren’t here. It means I have to relive the hardest moments over. It means I have to fight so hard to reconcile my heart and mind.
I often hear time heals all wounds. I know I’m only on month four, but I don’t believe it. This will never heal.
It will never be ok that my sister died. It will never be ok that I’m here without her.
Nothing will ever fill her void.
It will (eventually) be something I will live with a little more smoothly as my heart continues to rebuild itself up around the gaping hole she used to fill.
For now, I will keep writing it out.
For now, I will seek the out the comfort of those closest to me.
For now, I will cry until I can’t anymore.
I will miss you forever & always, my beautiful little sweat pea.