About (us)...
I decided that, just because you are dead, that doesn't mean our conversations have to stop. We have always talked about everything. There is no need for that to stop. I had presumed it would, given your death and all, but it was just that, a presumption. And presumptions are there to be challenged. When I challenge it, I realise that I had given up, given up speaking to you. I am sorry for that. My bad. So from now on, we will continue to share everything. Me through this blog and you through my dreams. Just keep the allegories simply, otherwise it's terribly difficult to follow your advice...
I am sitting on the train back from Middlesborough. It’s 21:47, now 21:48, and I am on a jammed-packed train. I know why I am on a train at nearing midnight on a Saturday, but why are all these other people?
“Katie, you’re getting to be a drag,” I hear you trill, your melodic tone adding softness to what would otherwise be a pretty brutal comment. “Katie, can’t you talk to me about something else? Anything?”
I feel the weight of always being the one to bring down the tone of the conversation, the one always wanting to talk about death, about my dead sister, about grief and my experience if it.
A friend, a trusted and beloved one, encouraged me to write about myself and my journey not only with you, but without you. He urged me to continue sharing memories and my journey as I learn to navigate this world without you by my side.
I thought our appointment was at seven but he assures me it’s now. I am aghast as I have not prepared and I absolutely detest those who turn up to an appointment unprepared.
What do I do with all my memories? Memories of you. You and me. Where do they go? What were they for if you aren’t here anymore?
I look back on it as a strangely magical time. A time when I was strongly connected to the spirit world, or wherever it is that souls go. While only a few days earlier you had left us, in an odd way we had never been closer.
Obscure miniscule creature
Little ugly bug
How often have you been seen?
[My sister, at some point]
All stories take place in a small little world. No matter how grand, complex and unique the story seems, they boil down to a few characters living in a small little world.
