layers and ...

Layers and layers of life separate us now.  
Seasons and earth and decomposition.  

I think about going to her grave but I always have a reason to wait.  A reason to pause and think about going- but not.  She, my sister, would have appreciated today the frantic call from me when I discovered a blender of good news/bad news coming from my editor.  The good news: the paper with *my* story on the front page is out. The bad news: the formatting editor made a mistake and a caption of a photo of the mayor was mislabeled calling him a 4 yr child and giving me the credit for it.  The mistake unseen until after the paper went to print.  Super awesome.  And in the blazing moment of oh my god are you joking?! I realized I have been holding onto that little story and my writing more than I care to admit.  I was seeing possibilities again.  The misprint throws a shadows, just enough to feed the doubt I live in.  I felt incredibly stupid for allowing myself to care so recklessly about something again.  For getting caught up in life.  I  wanted more than anything to be able to call my sister so she could laugh at me and I would be okay.  

But there is no phone call between us.  There is nothing between us but frosty roads and snow covered winter grass.      

It hit me pretty hard, yet another new understanding of her not being here.  See there is no one who can take her place. I know I have been sending messages meant for her to a friend, sometimes to her mother too and they are both very nice to me about it but I am sure they wonder why I invade... 

Without her I don't have someone to conspire with, someone to shamelessly laugh at me until she is laughing with me, someone to give a shit about only the things that matter to me.  I really miss her.

In the end she cared for no one but herself and her addiction.  For a long time I was trapped with only that version of my sister.  Insulated from the pending loneliness without her by the overwhelming legacy of her demise.  But anger untended falters.  Now I find long stretches of silence in my heart. All the times I struggled with the weight of her death were not nearly as painful as facing the shortness her life.     

...I just think that if I was to go her grave I might not be able to leave.