October 23rd of last year was the day we buried one of my younger sisters, Becky. I also referred to her as the older of my younger sisters. And called Byjo, the youngest of my younger sisters. The first fifty times I was talking about Byjo this year I stumbled over my classification of her. As the months went by and the pain receded her classification became my living sister.
Like all her siblings, I've had a hard year adjusting to the loss. Many in the family have struggled almost more with the circumstances surrounding her death to the actual death. See, Becky committed suicide. Oddly, that part didn't bother me as much as her being dead. I know that sounds weird, but I hope you understand what I'm trying to say.
Even when I wasn't thinking of the approach of this unwanted anniversary, I've been weighed down with an expectation of gloom. Not a full blown case of the crazies, just a case of the blues. Not much interest in life in general. But I still laugh and play with my son. I know what is causing the gloom and I understand it will pass.
I made it through the anniversary of the day she killed herself and didn't have a break down. I made it through the anniversary of the day I received the news and didn't fall apart. And now I've made it through the anniversary of the day we buried her and I'm still sane.
What more could you ask on the anniversary of death?
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I have to go with a cliche'. I know how you hate those. But...I think you are an amazingly strong person. You have taken the last year on like a bull takes on a matador. Keep going, I know it has helped me. No telling how many others.
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