Christmas is less than a week away and the idea that my brother won’t be here is still weird to me.
I don’t think about that reality all the time, like I did when it was fresh and new. But when things are quiet or I’m alone, he pops back into mind. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I smile. Sometimes I just whisper his name aloud and tell him that I miss him or that I love him.
The first few weeks after he died I drove around in silence, the radio would have have been too much competition against all the tumbling thoughts in my head. It took a while, but I remember the day I turned the radio on again and sang along loudly and poorly on the way home from work.
I wasn’t aware of it in the moment, but I was making space for the healing to start.