It’s been a long time since I wrote you last. I feel like such an adult now… Though I know I am far from it. My hands look more like your hands now: worked, dry, and with slightly larger knuckles.
People keep asking me things like where I got cuts and where my bruises came from. It only reminds me that somewhere in their hearts they worry I self-harm. Or at least that’s what I want to think. They may just be curious and not really worry about that at all. When they ask, it reminds me at least. I don’t even trust myself… not fully.
Part of me wants to yell at you now. Because Christmas time is so hard without you. This will be our third without you… That’s the worst part. Without you. I still miss the sound of your oxygen tank and how you’d always have your handkerchief in your pocket. I miss that stupid wheelchair I would sit in while you would talk to me from your rocking chair. You were always good at telling stories. I