Last night as I fell asleep I thought of the night of May 16, 2008 and the morning that followed. As I wept and had panic attack after panic attack, I remembered hearing my brother come home around 1:30am, and then leaving again. I remembered the phone call a few hours later, and it not registering that a phone call at 4 in the morning meant bad news so I didn’t answer. I remembered an hour later when my step dad came over to tell me. He called up the stairs to wake me, I guess unable to face me.
“Justin was in an accident” he said, “What? is he okayed?” I asked; “No, he didn’t make it”.
For 8 years I’ve wished that I had gone down there when I heard him come home and told him to stay. For 8 years I’ve had moments where I didn’t think I could make it through another day, but then I would remember that I made it through this particular day for 8 years and that means I can make it through any other day.
8 years since I was broken. 8 years that I’ve been held together by tape and glue.
