It didn't just hit close to home.
It exploded. In a nuclear way.
And my day that began with writing Love on my arm quickly turned to devastation.
My oldest sister.
The one in whose wedding I was the flower girl at the tender age of 5.
The one who took me to get my ears pierced before my mom would let me.
Who I loved and looked up too.
Who struggled with depression, anxiety, chronic headaches and fibromyalgia.
Who, sadly, battled an addiction to pain meds.
Did not wake up this morning.
She is gone.
The word Love. It is still there. On my arm.
My sister? Is gone.
It has been an extremely emotionally trying and draining day. I was the one who had to tell my Mom that her oldest child was gone. She was supposed to have been staying the night with Mom tonight. And she is not. She is gone.
I know. I know. She is not really gone. She still lives on but...
I am dealing with so many different emotions swirling and pulling and tugging and tearing at me. I don't even know where to place them or how to name them.
I don't even know how to begin.