Cat Down

Roxi Kitty

I lost a family member this week.

She was getting up there in years, and I knew the end was creeping in, but I was no more ready for her passing with that knowledge.

It seemed to happen suddenly and slowly all at the same time.

In preparation for this post, I went through all the pictures I had of her, happy memories mingled with tears as I chose some of my favorite images of her.

Happy Birthday

Today would have been my brother's 31st birthday.

He died nearly two and a half years ago, and I still miss him. I still get that horrible tightness in my chest and the, now familiar, sting in my eyes every time I see a picture of him or think about him.

I've stopped asking when that will go away. I don't think it ever will.

I can't change what happened. I can't go back in time and call him more often or take his keys away. So I do the only thing I can. I remember him.

Calvin with my oldest daughter (his niece) Makaya in August 2004

Calvin William Allen Skinner

August 11, 1980 - April 17, 2009

Priorities

It has been several weeks since I’ve posted on either of my blogs. A lot has gone down in that time. Easter weekend, my little brother was in a car accident. He suffered a traumatic brain injury that resulted in his death, but his passing was not in vain. His wish was organ donation, and through his gift, others will have a better life.

I’ve had a hard time dealing with this, and have never wished more to be closer to my family. You see, they live in Pennsylvania, and I'm way out here in Iowa. That’s three states. Nineteen hours by train. Twelve hours by car. Five hours by plane. An eternity if someone is hurt.

I haven’t posted about this for “so many reasons”.
Jeopardy is on.
I'm too busy.
It’s too late at night.
Letterman’s on.
Craig has Eric Idle tonight.
Makaya has her dance recital tonight.
Mum’s in town, have to spend as much time with her as I can.

All the while, I was unwilling to face the main reason.
If I don’t talk about it, it never happened. I can push it to the back of my mind, and pretend it was a dream.

Denial.

Pure as fresh snow.

There have been dreams. Nightmares really.

Doubts. Did we make the right choice? Did we act too soon? Should we have given him more time?

Unanswered questions. Did he know what was going on? Did he know we were there? Did he know how much we all love him? Did he suffer at all? Was he scared? Who will care for him? Is there a heaven or hell? Why did it happen to him? Was there someone else involved? Why now when he was so young? What do we say to his girls? Did he know I love him? Did he know how sorry I am?

There are ok days where I only think of him in passing and the loss doesn’t fully register.

There are not so good days where I cry without realizing it, and have to answer my daughter’s concerned questions with vague assurances that “No, Mama’s not hurt sweetie.”

Then there are the bad days. The days where I have to hold my self together, wrapping my arms around my body. I have to squeeze tightly because I'm afraid I will shatter into a thousand tiny shards if I don’t. The days where I sit in bed and rock myself in an effort to soothe an injury that refuses to heal. The days where my heart quite literally aches, each beat a painful reminder of the one that is now forever still.


Those are the reasons why I haven’t posted.