Words.

This one feels significant. It somehow feels different. By the end of the day, I will be as old as my brother was when he passed away.

Thirty one.

And honestly, I find myself at a loss for words for the ache that it sends through my very being. Thirty one. Such a small number if you think about it.

That’s the thing, life goes on. The world keeps spinning as the memories of someone remain frozen in time - the distance grows.

I think that’s maybe why seven feels so significant. Because now, now I will live beyond the safety of those seven years that was between Mikael and I. I made my appearance to the world on his seventh birthday. And now that time has lapsed between his last breaths on this earth.

And for the deep thinker that I am, that’s like my own little twilight zone.

A couple weeks ago while at a Sunday service at church I felt the smallest whisper to my heart.

“It’s time.”

It’s time for the deep suffering to end. Whether it be to the intense weight of grief, or due to the utter darkness of mental health and my journey with it, I just felt this weight lift off. Or not even that, it was almost like this reassurance that the heaviness I’ve experienced over my few 31 years does not have to last forever.

I am no stranger to the idea that life is complicated. Expectations are left unmet. People either die or walk away. Disappointment seems to be hiding - albeit terribly - in every shadow.

However, my prayer - my desperate cry - has been, God, please take this heaviness away. To the point where it’s just this sound on loop in my heart, playing in the background of everyday life.

Just a desperate plea.