Pain
She's gone.
The empty feeling inside me tells me that.
I can't say how I feel. The only word I can think of is 'gone'. She's gone and she's not coming back.
The tears can't come. I'm not 'sad'. I'm empty. I've tried to cry. I would probably feel better if I cried. The salty tears would wash away my agony like rivers washing a grain of sand from the mountain to the sea.
Gone.
Gone.
The word keeps echoing in my head.
Gone.
Gone.
Always there. Repeating over and over until I can no longer stand it.
I don't want comfort. I don't want sympathy. I want privacy. Space. Quiet.
The hustle downstairs is like when she got married. The rellies coming over and dropping off food for us. People rushing around like headless chickens. I thought grief was a quiet time? Obviously not in this high-tech, digital, non-stop world.
Gone.
Gone.
I feel like screaming but no sound will come out.
I hear a meowing sound outside my door and something scratches against it. I can't get up of my bed - I've tried so many times today that I've lost count - so I just let Furball keep up his scratching. After awhile someone lets him in. I am glad for the company. Furball doesn't talk, just curls up on my chest and listens to my heartbeat. I stroke him absentmindedly as I remember the good times I had to her. Her wedding stands out in my mind. The day that she gave herself up to a man. The day she let me go. It was such a happy day, even though she left me. I grew up that day. I think she did too.
I finally find my voice. "Thanks Kitty," I whisper. His warm weight on my chest has unlocked a catch inside me. The tears begin to flow and I am able to rise from my bed and go downstairs, to join my family in the mourning for my beloved sister.