I wonder if this is it.

After a long time of not being able to imagine it, I finally worked up the courage to write about Einstien. This may not seem like a big deal to you guys, but to me? I wasn't sure I wanted to remember that ngiht. But in the car Monday morning, I suddenly knew that I needed to. So I did. I almost got carsick because it's hard to read or write in the car for me. But I did. And I'm writing this blog post on Tuesday morning, and probably won't post it until Wednesday or Thursday. Because his death affected me. A whole lot. And now? I'm healing, yes, but that doesn't mean I'm healed. There's a big difference. So here you go. This is called I wonder if this is it.

Today is the first time we will come home and you won't get here to greet us,or that we won't have to pick you up and watch you run around the car, happy to see everyone. Instead, I will face a grave in the yard. The last words we ever said about you while You were alive will not stop ringing in my head.

“I wonder if this is it.”

Will they ever, ever, stop? I wonder that as the words repeat to the sound of your feet walking down the hallway. Though it's only in my head. I can never hear that sound again from you. 

“I wonder if this is it.”

She was given the blessing of holding you while you choked and died. I would give anything for that. I hid in my room, hoping you would last until the morning, and I could enjoy your last few days. I shook my head silently when she said those six painful words. 

"I wonder if this is it."

I heard sobs shaking someone's soul. I didn't want to think about what that might mean. You had to be with us. You were part of our family. I waited, and the cries did not stop. I stared at the clock, not wanting to believe that you could possibly be gone. 

"I wonder if this is it."

I went down the steps slowly, not wanting to disturb the slumber of the children. My heart was slow,but each beat lasted the eternity before I knew you were gone. 

"I wonder if this is it."

She holds you, surrounded by everyone who loved you. I can't tell if you breathe,and I'm sure deep inside,I knew. 

"I wonder if this is it."

She looks around, and mom touches a lock of your hair. “At least  I got to be here.” The words escape from her mouth and my brother puts his arms around my shoulders. I try to stand,but instead I crumble to the ground. How could this be all? Dad beckons me over and I scoot on my knees to you. He puts his arm around me and I melt into him, soaking his shoulder in tears. 

"I wonder if this is it."

My biggest regret in this world is that I did not touch your dead body, feeling your wrinkly skin, cold and gone. Feel your wet nose ,no breath coming from it. 

"I wonder if this is it."

I wonder that all the time. 

"I wonder if this is it."

Sometimes I believe it.

"I wonder if this is it."

Sometimes I want to throw the words away forever. 

"I wonder if this is it."

Sometimes I run outside to where your dead cold shell is deep in the ground and cry forever more.

“I wonder if this is it.”

I wonder if this is it.

But this is not it. 

Monday!

Hello. Welcome to Monday.  

For once, I actually feel like getting things done. Today, (and it's only 9:30) I took care of some email regarding a new blog project (more on that later.), began searching for a new cleaning system for juggling other life, edited some photos I took and edited photos, started a blog post, all while taking care of my three younger siblings. 

So. 

Don't you feel grat about yourself. 

Oh, you didn't do anything this morning?

That's okay. It's part of life. It's part of Monday. 

Now, I'm going to post some more pictures, a poem, update you on my life, and the tell you Bit my project. Yes, all in one blogpost. So, here goes.

 

One of my good friends graduated this week, and had a party. Morah, Peter and I dressed up. 

She is seriously extremely pretty. 

Looking snazzy!

I got the dress for 90 cents. Also, I cut my hair. 

So, now for a poem. 

This is called death song. 

Don't.

Don't you want to. 

Leave. 

Don't you think that. 

Life. 

Has fallen through. 

No.

No point at all. 

Why. 

Is there still things. 

I. 

I am doing. 

Live. 

When I cannot. 

Go. 

Leave me alone. 

Song. 

Sing my death song. 

Feel. 

My death rattle. 

Gone. 

So. 

Gone. 

If you want. 

I'll leave. 

Don't leave see, you must

Sing my death song to me.

Now for the update. I want to do writing, but I have been havng trouble sitting down and doing it. I have Ben doing tons of other projects, including poems and short stories. But none of my novels at egetting much work done on them. Hopefully, that will change this week. But of you, wonderful person, read this, please comment with some encouragement. 

Now, the project. I'm going to be interviewing some other young writers I know, including my next door niegbour and great friend Nikki White, (her blog, pen and parchment, hAs a link in the sidebar.) and my online friend from Paris, France, Maddie Lee, Amoung other people. It will probably be weekly, starting next week or late this week, and last maybe 2-3 months. 

Sorry for the long post, but I Havn't posted in A whole long time, and it was needed.