Five Years

“Four years and still pain. Is this normal? To think about it all and sometimes, more often than not?”

“I don’t think normal is really measurable in these instances.”

This is from a year ago, which now makes it five years.

Five years. Five years I’ve been saying “it takes time.” Five years of crying out of nowhere. Of crying somewhere and nowhere at the same time. Five years of reasons and no reasons at all. Five years of causes. Of questions, concerns, worries. Five years of dragging. Five years of no answers. Five years of understanding. Five years of running. Five years of fighting. Five years of guilt. Years of letting go. Five years of grasping. Of holding on. Collecting pieces. Discoveries. Five years of seeing you more and more in my brother. Five years of hearing “we were close” from my grandmother. Five years of “I wish I could have met him.” Years of “I wish you could meet him.” Years more of “He’s there with you.” Five years of him not being there with me. Five years of ashes. Five years of “Dad” existing still, and only, in my phone contacts. Five years homesick.

Five years lost.

Five years of repair. Five years of taking time. Five years of progress. Five years of lifting. Five years of pushing. Five years of trying. Five years of crying and laughing and crying. Five years of homes.

Five years, weight is lifting.

Five years, I notice something.

Five years, and counting.

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