My sister’s murder shut me down, I have had to close off the pain. It is the only way to keep going. And go we must. It is not like I don’t want to go on. Life holds plenty of goodness. But living in a world where a husband can kill a wife with a gun, well, that is unimaginable to me. I have spend many, many hours thinking about how to go on.
We must not only imagine it, we must live it.
With all the killings this week, I have to admit, I’m shook up. There are so many hard memories that I have put away in a safe box and the news takes that box and shakes it hard. Pain comes flying out at the most unexpected and inconvenient moments.
And then things that shouldn’t be hard, become hard. “I chose the number 73 on my football jersey because it is the year mom was born.”
“What a wonderful way to remember her,” I say with my heart crackling like it is on fire and my head spinning.
We are coming up on three years, in June. Three years later it is still a hard lump in my throat and I find myself avoiding conversation with everyone today because I don’t want to answer “How are you?” People just mean “hey” or “how was your night?” and I want to say “My face is burning hot right now, to be honest, because I just remembered my sister is dead and I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
But I won’t be rude. “Hey back,” I’ll reply, “Great Bucks game last night.”
Logic & Imagination 