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Dear brother.
I’m sorry.
I couldn’t grasp it, couldn’t even start to comprehend the notion of you being gone, we we’e both so young, not quite understanding what life was, less death.
I couldn’t help but tearing up everytime i remembered you, how your body slowly was decomposing, the dark blue’s and purple’s hues your body started to have, how your skin was so deteriotated the final week in that… Place.
Mom- No, that woman stopped being a mother to me when she locked me in that room, making me eat that ‘food’, that was so filled with maggots it was a literal feast to the flies in the room. The first days the hunger was so damning that i tried a bite, it tasted as bad as it looked, i would have retched all over the place, but i didn’t have anything in my stomach.
I couldn’t even think about eating something that was related to pumpkin’s for years, don’t even talk about seeing people in wheelchairs, it just made me feel all sick in the stomach. The nun’s in the orphanage couldn’t do anything about it, there was a period in where i refused to eat anything, just replaying your ‘death’ over and over. I wish i had prevented it, but it’s all wishful thinking.
Even though i’m older, and in the good days i can stomach at least pumpkin juice, that doesn’t mean that i forgot. Even though i can go through my day without it damaging my perfomance in class, it doesn’t make it go away, and that’s what means that i’m healing, because dealing with my trauma doesn’t mean that i have to repress it, since it will mean more suffering for me on the long run. I just remember our time’s together, your last words to me, it’s what gives me enough hope to continue living.
I can’t even hope how it felt for you, having your body be so… tainted like that, not even allowing you a proper burial of some sort’s. I can only pray to god that your way to him was some sort of peaceful, in a way.
With love, your sister.