It's taken me a while to process what that day meant to me. At first, it's hard to believe that an entire year has gone by. I feel almost guilty that I've lived so much since you chose not to. I wonder what you would think of me now--graduated, moving across the country. I wish there were some way to show you all of the things I've done; sometimes all I want is to hear your praise, to listen to you tell me how beautiful you think I am. Whose lap do I sit in now? You were the only person who didn't think I've gotten too old. A whole year, but it still hurts like it did 52 weeks ago. What will next year be like? What happens after five years? Ten? Fifty?
What if I forget?
How is Jason? We miss him, too. That still hurts, too. I want him back here with us, too.
What is it about death that is so troublesome? My own death doesn't bother me, just the death of everyone else.
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