2 months

Kobi,

It's been 2 months since we lost you, and 2 months now since we found out we lost you. I'm not the same person I was 2 months and 2 days ago. I will never be that person again. I had a really hard time understanding why Dad did what he did. It took me a very long time to come to terms with his death. One of the things that I thought was a positive from us losing him, was how much closer we became. That day our family was broken. We were no longer the Walden Family. We were the leftovers of what it use to be. You and I, however, became a force to be reckoned with. We became these two people that could get through anything, as long as we had each other. Now as I sit here, one half of those people, I'm struggling to get a grip on what my life has become.

I'm the woman who lost her Dad to suicide at 13, after he attempted once before, after we struggled to keep him alive and keep him sober. I'm the woman who suffered with PTSD, self harm, an eating disorder, anxiety and depression. I survived a sexual assault. I miscarried 2 children. I have buried most of the people I love. Been abandoned by most of the others.  I have been to the depths of Hell and back. Here I am, on my knees again, because out of all of those things, losing you, is by far the hardest thing I have ever done. Yes, I'm being vulnerable, and I don't care anymore.

When I tell people I am lonely, they look at me funny. They think, "How in the world can she be lonely? She has a lot of friends, 4 children and a husband." If you understood the amount of time we spent with each other, either on the phone or in person, they would completely understand. Yes, I talk to my children all the time, but that's a different kind of talking. Casey's schedule means I don't always get to talk to him as often as I would like. You and I however, we spent countless hours on the phone. You were apart of our family. It was never just the 6 of us, you were always included in everything. You were a setting at our table, a stocking on our wall, our photographer at the kids birthday parties, and the emergency contact for our kids. In fact, you were who was suppose to get our children if something happened to us. There is a hole in our family. A member of our immediate family was taken. You are gone.

There's a lot of empty space in my life now. The conversations while I was driving, the summer plans we had, the evenings when I'm alone, those moments where I just have something I have to tell you, which is basically all the time and every moment the kids do something awesome, or awful and I want to hear you laugh at them. I'm more lonely than I've ever been in my entire life. Because even when I was lonely before, I always called you. I've always had you. You have been my safety net from all that is bad and consuming. You have been my drinking buddy when we lost someone else that we loved. My hand up when I'm the lowest I've ever been. My supporting base when I'm about to fall down. You have been everything to me for almost 26 years. I don't see how to survive this. I don't see how to get through it. I know I have to, but how do you do something you don't know how to do?

I'm going to keep throwing the pieces together until they fit. Until they hurt a little less. Until I feel more like living and less like being with you. Until I think I can survive with these cracks in my soul instead of letting the cracks break me completely. Until some way, some how, this life without you, is livable.

I think I truly always needed you, more than you needed me. Love you to the moon and back and the sun and back, I miss you even more.

Sis