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Even at the time, I was astounded at my ability to find the words to tell my daughter her baby brother was dying. It felt like the emotional equivalent of the mother who lifts an impossibly heavy object off the child trapped beneath.

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Losing you felt like a car accident that had been waiting to happen to me my whole life and I had constantly swerved to avoid it.

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Ever since the day I learned he died, I felt physically in pain. There was a constant sensation of heavy stones pressing down on my chest.

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Stop checking for who called last, trust me, that isn’t important.

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I miss my innocence. I miss feeling invincible. There is a small part of me that will always be frozen in time at fifteen, praying that things will turn out differently. I am still learning to be okay with that.

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On the nights I lay awake, staring at a ceiling that looks like yours, I wonder if you’re looking down on me from up there.

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You don’t hold things in as much as you used to because you know the sting of leaving important words unsaid.

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My sister and her boyfriend came to pick me up from college the day after my brother died. During the three hour car ride home, I was mostly in a state of catatonic shock.