Me: "What time did Robbie die? I can't remember already!" HOW could I forget?
My older sister: "12:17pm"
Me: "It's been 717 days, 2 hours,
55 minutes and 25 seconds"
My older sister: "Crazy"
Just another random set of texts between my older sister and I.
It's been 717 days, 2 hours, 55 minutes and 25 seconds since the moment our entire world both ended and began in one massive gut wrenching, heart breaking, grief filled moment. It's been 717 days, 2 hours, 55 minutes and 25 seconds since our baby sister Robbie, the third to our #always3, took her last agonizing heart felt breath in our arms and left us AND the horrific brutal beast, cancer, she was living with. The feeling of that moment is permanently seared in my heart and body despite the precise details like exact time being a frequent black out from my brain and memory. All part of "healing" they say....all part of the "grief process" they say...all part of PTSD they say.......
All part of the shittiest most agonizing part of REAL life is what I say.
That was the last second of our life and the first moment of what, almost two years later, I now recognize as our new normal. Our new life without Robbie isn't like our old life with Robbie. Our family is completely broken and void of a huge piece of all of our hearts. We are all grieving differently and we are all frustrated with each others grieving, while knowing full well that we are all coping with the loss of the same special person. The shock has long worn off and the pain is real and unavoidable. Some days it feels like she was just here yesterday, while others it feels as though she's been gone for a lifetime already.
The moments I never even paid attention to in my old life are now the BEST memories in our new normal. I do everything to keep her here with me, while at the same time trying to allow her the freedom to be free and happy and at peace wherever she needs to be now.
- I wear a necklace every day with her photo on it.
- I have a tattoo on each arm representing her.
- I try to wear a piece of her clothing or her pjs every.single.day.
- I have another necklace with her photo hanging in my truck.
- I say good morning to her every morning on my drive to work.
- My older sister has Robbie's old cell #, so every time I call my older sister I have to say and see "Tracy (Robbie's Cell) Be***w" show up on my bluetooth and phone.
- We talk about Auntie Robbie almost daily and...We remember. We remember. We remember.
Along with losing my sister, came the new found unconventional gift of feeling peace from being able to help others dealing with cancer or others dealing with the loss of a loved one. Some call it morbid, but I feel peace if I'm able to help even one person understand cancer a little more clearly, or help one family feel less alone in their battle and loss, or can encourage even one person that there is a life after loss and there is a new normal and the new normal is a life with a lot more gratitude for the things you once took for granted.
It's
truly a day at a time. It's truly choosing happy every day instead of curling
up in a ball and avoiding the world. It's truly choosing gratitude for the good
you see in your MOMENT, your day instead of being angry for the things you've
senselessly lost. You will never make sense out of nonsense and losing a
healthy, 27 year old sister after a horrific, intense short 7 month battle
with cancer is nonsense. There is nothing sensible or right about it and
if you try to make sense of it you will end up in the psych ward of your
nearest hospital.
I
miss my sister. It's painful and it's confusing and it's surreal and it's REAL
life. There is no shame in being open about your heart and your
learning's. There is no shame in admitting your faults. There is no shame
in standing proud in who you are and how you got there.
Today
I am here. Missing my sister. Wishing it was different.
Battling a relapse of PTSD. Working with my doctor and a therapist. Being
authentic. Working full time at the company I love. Being a Super-mama to
the love of my life and choosing to live in love and gratitude even when it
hurts and even when it doesn't make sense.
Love,
Jess
