It's been almost four and a half years since our loss.
The increasing distance from that date as measured in time has softened the acuteness of my pain.
The physical distance of my grief sits firmly in my back pocket. Constant reminders that my sister is dead. She is not here and never will be again.
Passing the cemetery every. single. day.
Pictures around our house.
Looking into the faces of the girls.
Looking at the reflection in the mirror as I come out of the shower or brush my teeth. Seeing her eyes through my own.
Driving past their old neighborhood.
Driving past the accident site.
A song on my ipod.
The stupid commercials being played constantly for a new show called Resurrection in which loved ones come back to life, knowing that it can never really happen, but wishing that it could all the same.
My seven year old talking about dying. His own and those that he loves.
Any of these triggers can bring me right back to the early days of grief. The lump comes to my throat. Tears pool in my eyes. An emptiness that can't be filled.
I wish that I felt their real presence all around us. Signs that they are still here, watching over us, and giving us feelings of love and comfort. Instead, it is their absence that remains a constant in my life.
I want my sister.
Unfortunately, that is a distance that can never be bridged.