Some days are more difficult than others, you know?
Everybody has been talking about time, and how we desperately need to be patient with our grief, as the days that pass are the only things that will dull the sharp edges of the hurting away.
What they don't tell you is that now, after a tiny fistful of time, when you've survived with this new life longer than you ever thought you would, you raise your head, and look around and realize that after all this time, the answer at the end of the day still the same. He's still not here.
Is it possible that on some deep, buried level inside of me, it hasn't sunk in yet? That after all this time, and through all of this, I, a fully functioning, relatively intelligent adult, harboured the idea that something could change and my brother could come back? Is it possible that I'm just waking up to the definition of 'not here anymore' only now, 7 weeks later? I mean, logically, I understand that Frankie is gone. I understand that heís gone forever, that heís not coming back, that we are without Frankie from now on. Iíve known this for 48 days now.
So why, why, why do I feel like Iím just stumbling on that fact now? Itís like Iíve come back from the dentist after having some work done, and itís two hours later, and my mouth is starting to tingle awake. Except, while I was frozen, I started clenching my teeth, and now that Iím not anymore, my jaw hurts like the bloody fires of hell.
In some peculiar and agonizing way, I think the word Ďdeadí just made itself clear to me.
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Dead is forever. How could I not know that?