I Swear You Will Be Fine

One of the biggest things I struggle with is all the stuff I never said to Josh. Shalini wrote about how she imagined what Josh would do. I constantly imagine what he would say. We knew him from the day he was born. I can predict what he would do or say in most situations, and vice versa. Really, Joshua knew me better than anyone. We are close for siblings, but still, there was too much I didn’t say. I’m going to document a fraction of it.

Did you know how loved you were? I feel like you did, because if not, you wouldn’t have tried so hard. Did you know it was going to happen? Did you plan it? Everything points to no, it was impulsive. The dogs were at home, you knew Mum was coming home alone. If you were able to think clearly, all these things should have stopped you. I know you well enough that I’m almost 100% sure this couldn’t have been you. But I don’t think it will be 100% until I can ask you again.

What was it like? Was it voices telling you what to do, or thoughts that wouldn’t stop intruding? Or did you feel like you just weren’t yourself? Was it like that for the last 9 years? How did you deal with it? I know none of us could have. I keep trying to understand what it was like for you. When you were younger, we would talk about it. When we got older, we stopped. I’m sorry I stopped asking. I asked if you were ok, but I stopped asking you what was wrong. I don’t think I could handle it, because I was rarely able to fix it. The night you passed away, I was the last one to see you. And I asked if you were ok. You told me yes, Josh. Were you lying?

I’m so so so sorry I didn’t stay that night. It will always be my biggest regret. There is not one second of the day where I don’t regret it. I should have been with you, keeping an eye on you. Rationally, I know those thoughts would probably still have come later on. But I don’t think it matters now. Because the one night I should have been there, I wasn’t.

Did you think everyone would be this upset? I feel like I can imagine your answer to this. “Haha. Nah, not really. Like I knew they’d be sad, but like this? No.” It’s getting harder to imagine your voice, and how you would say things. I regret not calling you more last year. Realistically, I know that when I did call, you barely answered. Not because you were angry at me, but because you were a teenage boy. I always got a text back though. I’ll give you that.

I hope you know how proud we were and are of you. There are so many things I never said to your face. But how could I? You’re my brother, I can’t compliment you to your face. I talk(ed) all the time about how well you were doing at Uni and how much weight you had lost. I even bragged about you in the eulogy.

I could list a million things I am proud of you for. But above all, I think I’m proudest of you for giving us 20 years. Because I don’t think any of us could have done it. But you did. You gave us 20 years, where you were suffering every day for the last 10, but we got to see you. I got to watch you grow up and become well-mannered and friendly and someone I got to brag about. I got to share a room next to you for 20 years, and argue with you for the front seat and the music for 20 years, and make fun of you for 20 years. It was all a privilege, Josh. It’s not enough, it will never be enough, but it’s more than what so many people get. And I am so grateful for those 20 years.

Are you at peace now? Is heaven nice? I hope you always get the front seat and pick the music now. I’m not there to argue with you now, but someday I will be. I miss you so, so much. But I keep telling myself that you’re ok. I know we can’t have a direct conversation nowadays, but I’m pretty sure you can send me signs. This, I know how you would reply to. You would go, “Ok Jess, sure” slightly sarcastically. But you would still do it. You have to, I’m your older sister.

Love you and miss you,

Jess