I recently was talking with a friend about growing up in my family. Telling stories about the black eye that I received from a rogue crochet ball and the famous line “just lean into the curve” right before the three wheeler flipped…all from just normal days hanging out with my brother. It’s a weird feeling knowing I don’t have him here to share those memories. The same goes with my sister. There are so many stories that I wish the three of us could all sit around and laugh about.
It’s fun looking back and reminiscing about some childhood stories. It’s also strange how that sad feeling creeped into my head. The feeling was not the raw grief it once was, however it did take me to the memory of being in the cemetery saying goodbye to each. I know they aren’t “really” there, but all of a sudden I have this deep desire to go back and see the graves. I haven’t been back since the funeral services.