I'm not sure why I'm writing this. Maybe I need a way of expressing what I'm going through to help me get through it. A therapy in way.

It's been nearly four months since my sister passed away, 113 days. It hurts just as much as the first day without her.

I know people say time heals but right it doesn't feel like that's the case.

It's been a whole bunch of firsts and each time it feels like my heart is being shredded into tiny little pieces. We have already had our first New Year without her. Her daughter celebrated her first birthday without her mother. It's my birthday in a few days and I'm dreading it. I don't want to celebrate anything without her, it doesn't feel right. Every day is another day without her.

We are all trying to band together and keep everyone going but some days it's hard to be strong when all I want to do is curl into a ball and cry. I don't want to be strong. I want to give into the pain and let it wash me away. There are some mornings I wake up crying wishing it was a nightmare I can wake up from but each day I have to my new reality.

My mom is visiting me in Florida for the first time in three years because of Covid. It's been wonderful and emotional. We both miss my sister terribly. I'm trying to hold onto the memories of her, so I don't forget a thing. And it's been hard to see the pain my mom is in. I couldn't imagine what she is going through. When I look at my son and daughter, I couldn't imagine being without them.

Right now, I'm trying to focus on the positive memories. Remembering how funny, feisty, and lovable my sister was instead of remembering her pain and suffering. She was the strongest person I have ever met. Not once, did she give up. Faced with endless chronic conditions, operations and living every day in some sort of pain, she never once gave up. She suffered through every minute, every second of every day.

I'm plagued with guilt. Did I tell her how much she meant to me? Did she know how much I loved her?

When I was twenty-two years old, I lost my father very suddenly. One day he was fine and the next day he was gone. It hit me badly, I never got a chance to tell him all the things I wanted to.

I always believed if you had a chance to say goodbye it would be better but with my sister's passing, I've learned differently.

I was fortunate not to have to watch my father suffer like my sister did. And there was never a point with my sister's doctors that they said, "You have x amount of time left." Even when we knew she had very little time left, my sister never spoke of the end, and I couldn't bring it up for fear it would seem like I was giving up on her somehow.

So even though I had the time to tell her how much she meant to me, I didn't. I told her loved her as many times as possible, but I couldn't talk to her like she wasn't going to be here the next day. I just couldn't. And now I wished I had told her how much it meant to have her in my life and how I would never be the same without her.

When she died, she took a piece of me I'll never get back.