A common thought for me through out my sister’s illness had been: I’m not ready. I always wanted to freeze time. I wanted to make it last longer. I wanted those long paused take forever minutes.
I wanted those minutes before the school bell rang at the end of the day.
I wanted those minutes when you are getting in trouble when you’re a kid.
I wanted those minutes when you’re sure you’ve already worked three hours but it’s been 15 minutes.
Those minutes that drag out.
I wanted those minutes a million times over again all of 2016.
I wanted those minutes this weekend when her boys came to visit.
I wanted those minutes all day today.
I will want those minutes all day tomorrow.
I’m not ready. I finally found a loss support group. Funny enough, at the hospital my sister always used.
I’m just not ready. But, truthfully I never will be ready to go talk to a group of strangers about my sister’s life and death. Here, its easy. I write, people read. But, there’s no vocalization.
I’m not ready for her to be a person I am going to tell people about, but they can’t see her light up the room when she walks in.
“Kate, you’ll never be ready. But this ain’t no Titanic. Yo ass better not stay in that damn water and freeze ya ass off about me being dead. There’s room on the door for you, my ghost and that stubborn ass heart of yours.You gonna wake up one morning and know its time. Not cause you ready but cuz you tired”
I am tired. I’m not ready, but I am tired.