I Swear You Will Be Fine

I genuinely have no idea how any of us are breathing at all. Right after your funeral, I asked everyone older than me how to grieve. All the textbooks say 1-3 months for a typical grief reaction. It’s been 4 months and I still cry several times every day. I still don’t know how this happened. For the life of me I don’t get how the world is still spinning.

I find that I have to tell myself that you died several times a day. If not, it’s too easy to try and forget that it didn’t happen. That you’re just in Singapore, walking the dogs, going to the gym with Shalini or telling Ammamma what you want for lunch. I have to remind myself so many times a day that my brother isn’t breathing anymore. It’s almost like a one-liner. On the 31st of December, my younger brother died. It’s still so horrifying. I really didn’t think I would still be dealing with the disbelief a few months in.

There are triggers everywhere. Grief is already such a potent reminder of loss, but just when you think you may be handling it, something reminds me that you’re not here anymore. I watched an episode of TV where the characters are getting ready for Christmas. Christmas is such a big thing for us. And then I remember – was. It was such a big thing for us. We used to make such a big deal picking what colours we were going to decorate the tree in. You proudly sent me a picture of the decorated tree last year. Even after I left to England, you would wait for me to put the star on. I was nearly going to make you do it last year since it was so hard to reach. I wish I did.

We won’t celebrate Christmas. At least within this family unit, I don’t think we’ll ever be able to. It should be the five of us at the table. You would pray like you always do, and struggle to open the champagne that you wouldn’t even drink. You were always so good at presents. After a while, I would bypass Mum and just tell you specific things I wanted. You would do the research and get the best one. Our last messages are all about what to get Mum. I didn’t even get you anything last year – I assumed I would be buying you presents for the rest of our lives. I didn’t think it would matter if I missed one.

I think it’s not just Christmas that is going to be difficult. That whole week may be unbearable, because it will be impossible to forget what comes next. We all know what happened one week after Christmas last year. I think I’m the only family member that has constantly expressed how angry I am with you. Not for how you died, but that you died. I hate how it somehow feels like we have lost so much more than just one person.

Selfishly, I’m glad that you probably took more pictures with me than with anyone else. I’m well aware this wasn’t by choice but default as one of two siblings. We’ve stopped taking family photos. It doesn’t feel like there’s much point since we’re not complete anymore. Shalini and Mum are good to the point that they still try to do so much, because they know how much it would hurt you to see us hurting. As your older sister, I don’t mind if you look down and feel a little guilty.

I spoke to my flatmate about what I would want my funeral to be like. I want a massive party, with everything nicely decorated, good food and excellent music. She looked at me weirdly, and asked if the atmosphere wouldn’t be too sad for that. I replied that when the four of us go, it shouldn’t be a sad thing. I’m not sure if I was ever actively scared of death, but it doesn’t hold any power over any of us anymore. It just means we’re one step closer to being with you. Another friend said to me that it didn’t matter if I wanted for my life to be short – if I headed up there to be with you prematurely, you would kick me right back down. So don’t worry, we’re all still trying very hard. Sometimes it’s hard to remember why, but we are.

Love, Acca