Six Months ago

Six months ago, to this day, I was sitting in church, hoping not to get a phone call. Six months ago, we left church early to go see you in the hospital. Six months ago, I cried as the news from the doctors got worse. Six months ago, my uncle came into the waiting room and told me that you were going to die. Six months ago, I walked into the ICU center and got a sticker specifically for people who's relatives were in that section. Six months ago, I stood in the hallway, trying to not let my uncle see my tears. Six months ago, I walked into your hospital room. Six months ago, I saw your flawed body the way you had left it. Six months ago, I stood around you with my family and cried. Six months ago, I listened to the doctor as she unplugged your life support and narrated what was happening to you. Six months ago, I watched your heart monitor stop. Six months ago, I watched my uncle cry harder than I have ever seen a grown man cry. Six months ago, I watched your parents and sister scream in anguish. Six months ago, I went to rehearse the songs for your funeral. Six months ago, I watched my uncle carry in your ashes into the church. Six months ago, I watched as my poppy, your father-in-law, serve at your funeral. Six months ago, I watched as you were put in a hole in the ground in a cemetery. Four months ago, I watched as my family opened Christmas presents without you. Four months ago, I sat at my Nana's house and remembered how you used to play with my hair at family gatherings. Three months ago, I went to a sleep over with my best friend and planned to go on a cruise with them for spring break. Three months ago, I almost didn't go on the cruise because I felt bad for going to do something fun when you had just died. Three months ago, I watched my uncle try to date someone because he missed you so much that he needed a distraction. Two months ago, I couldn't stop thinking about you. Two months ago, my uncle gave me a pair of your glasses because I wanted something of yours. Two months ago, I got a box and put everything related to you in it. Two months ago, I put my tiara that I wore to your wedding in the box. Two months ago, I cried in my room late at night because I missed you. One month ago, I went on a cruise with my best friend and had the most fun I have ever had in my life. A month ago, I felt bad every night on the cruise because I felt like I wasn't mourning you enough. A month ago, I got back from the cruise to find that my uncle had broken up with his girlfriend because she was doing drugs and drinking again. A month ago, he said "Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, not going down that road again." Today, it is the sixth anniversary of your death. Today, I am looking at my little brother who won't remember you how I did. Today, I am realizing that he will only know you as the aunt who died that he can't remember. Today, I am remembering those days in the hospital and the drawing that I gave you but you never got to see. Today, I have made it my life goal to make you proud. Today, I am hoping you are eating catfish with my great grandfather in heaven. Today, I am remembering what your body looked like the last time I saw you. Today, I am remembering your suffering during your last days. Today, I am remembering how you said you would stop drinking. Today, I remember believing you. Today, I am realizing that it was easier said than done. Today, I am making a vow to never drink. Today, I am making a vow to never do drugs. Today, I am making memories that I hope I can one day share with you. Today, I am sitting in silence, remembering the feeling of your hands in my hair. Today, I am remembering how your hugs comforted me. Today, I am remembering how stubborn, funny, sweet, spoiled, and silly you were. Today, I am remembering when we had a dirty santa game at Christmas and you didn't get the present you wanted, so you threw a fit. Today, I remember that that is the reason we don't do dirty santa anymore. Today, I am remembering you and how much you loved your two dogs, who were like your babies. Today, I walk past a picture of you every day and kiss it. Today, I am remembering that you are in a better place. Today, I am hoping than my uncle will someone else to fill the hole you left, though they won't be nearly as wonderful as you. Today, I am remembering our failed attempts to help you by sending you to rehab. Today, I am remembering the story my poppy told me about you sneaking his liquor. Today, I am remembering the countless times my nana said that you weren't good enough for my uncle. Today, I am realizing that my nana was wrong and that you were the best thing that happened to him. Today, I am realizing how hard your addiction was to deal with. Today, I am promising to beat my addiction in your honor. Today, I am remembering all the lessons your suffering taught me. Today, I am realizing to not be so quick to judge. Today, I am realizing that just because someone smiles, it doesn't mean they don't have an internal war going on. Today, I am realizing that anyone can have dominant demons, even the person that you think is the most composed and under control. Today, I am realizing that I didn't appreciate you like I should have. Today, I am trying to remember significant moments I had with you and am coming up blank. Today, I am awaiting the day that I can see you again. Today, I am realizing how much I miss you. Today, I am remembering that I must keep living, even without you. Today, I am realizing how a simple liquid in a bottle took your life at just the age of 35. Today, I am remembering the day that I lost you to alcoholism.