Submission 63
Dear Hugh,
This week marks 10 years since you passed away. It’s hard to get my head around that. Somethings have changed; the physical pain of losing you has weakened and I am not stopped in my tracks with a pain in my chest, my breath catching in my throat as often; I don’t wake up in tears from dreams where you are alive as much anymore; I don’t stutter anymore when people ask ‘what happened?’; I don’t fear having to tell people rather, I want people to know that you were more than how you died.
I want people to know that you were the funniest, cleverest and warmest person. When you died, the loudest volume of my laughter died too. Having to navigate a world without my big brother, one with the sharpest sense of humour and maddeningly acute arguing skills, has been and still can be, a lonely and tough journey.
But I am not angry at you, or I am but only fleetingly. At your funeral, there were so many people, they had to stand outside and yet, I wonder if you could have known that? So, I think I am angry at the disease that lived in your mind that couldn’t let you see that. I am heartbroken that someone so loved had to feel so much pain. I am thankful that you fought, for such a long time, against it and thought of us and the people you loved, even in your final moments. It was hard, sometimes, to live with you and see you struggle and not know why or how to help and I am sorry that caused frustration and confusion.
It's been ten years and so much has happened and yet at times, it also only feels like yesterday, like time stood still. We remember you always, particularly on your birthday and Christmas and we celebrate you, alongside friends and family. It’s both heart-warming and heartbreaking to see people’s lives change, to welcome new partners you would have chatted to, new children you would have played with and experience loss you would have supported people through. You have stayed fixed in time and are remembered often, in many different ways.
These words can seem like clichés but there are simply not enough to express the complex reality of living in a world without you in it. I suppose what I want you to know is that you are missed, every day, that you are loved, today and always, and I hope you are at peace.
Love
Amy