7:18PM

It’s 5:23PM

I am driving home, catching up on the phone with my long distance bestie. We talk about the day, we talk about our jobs, then we talk about you. I explain that things have been tough, the weekend was hard, but I wasn't feeling sad today. 

It’s 6:33PM. 

I am finishing packing a bag for our weekly sleepover. I mentally check items off my list. Toothbrush, toothpaste, socks, work clothes. It is always hard packing for an overnight stay before work, knowing the lack of sleep I get will be obvious regardless of how much foundation is caked on my eyebags. 

The phone rings, it’s my brother. Are you almost here? My heart sinks. You’re having a bad day. 

It’s 6:46PM. 

I am speeding down highway 70 with shaky hands and an anxious dog in the passenger seat. The fear of what the night will bring continues to set in. My best friend calls. I am not well. She listens to my scrambled thoughts and my worst fears in between sudden inhales to catch my breath. I am a mess. I pull onto the street, hang up the phone and attempt to get my shit together. 

I walk in the door to find you in bed. You are still you. I sit with you for awhile. We talk about how I am not the best nurse, that you should probably fire me. I wouldn’t fire you. Those are the last words you say to me. 

It’s around midnight. 

I am sitting on the couch in your room sandwiched between my mom and my brother. Mom and I are leaning into each other, holding each other together. Grandma sits across the room at your side. Every prolonged blink is another prayer. 

It’s 1:15AM.

I move to the family room to spread out on the couch and get some rest. I am shaking, unsure if it is caused by the cold March weather or the events of the evening. I curl up in an old blanket and doze off. I toss and I turn. I wake frequently to the sound of quick footsteps in the kitchen. Each time I grip myself tighter, praying they stop before reaching me to give any bad news. They are just getting medicine. You are still here.

It’s 5:13AM.

I wake up with your purple plaid blanket overtop of me. Grandpa must’ve been nesting and tucked me in. I lay there on the couch scrolling through the Facebook thread of memories your friends and family are sharing. I get up, move to your room and fall asleep on the airbed. 

It’s sometime after 8AM. 

The morning has been tough. I can’t remember what was a dream and whats been reality. 

It’s 1:30PM. 

Time is moving fast and moving slow. I am organizing photos on Google Drive, stealing memories from Facebook and saving them for what’s inevitable. Your brother is ordering t-shirts, scouring the web for the best price with the fastest shipping time. 

I start to do the dishes. I scrub the edges of the sink. I use a wire sponge and get what feels like 4 years worth of gunk off the backsplash of the stove. I vacuum the living room. The boys get haircuts. We are staying busy. I tell my family I am leaving around 6 to quickly grab things from home. My packing list didn’t include another night of clothes. 

It’s 5:40PM.

My old boss is calling. She’s a great talker and a good distraction. I sit on the porch and escape the experience of the last 24 hours. My uncle walks outside, gives me a look. Then, my grandpa walks outside. She’s close. I hang up the phone.

It’s 7:18PM. 

I look at my watch. You’re gone. 

It’s 7:26PM. 

I am sitting at the kitchen table. Your phone is in front of me. My head is resting over my crossed arms as I stare at the cracked screen protector. My brain is processing. You will never call me again. You will never text me from this phone again. It’s YOUR phone. It’s YOUR case. But it’s not yours anymore. My mom is shouting from the other room, asking where the party hats are. She’s ready to celebrate, I am falling apart. How are we here already?

It’s sometime after midnight. 

I walk into the spare bedroom of my uncles with heavy eyelids and hopes to get some sleep. But as I walk into the bedroom, I let go. Jason bought the house across the street with the same floor plan as Grandma and Grandpa’s. While they have put alot of work into the house, the spare bedroom was drafty and empty, with only a queen sized bed and 2 night stands in the room. At my grandparents with their layout, this would be your room. And as I crawl into bed and allow myself to process my grief, I am reminded that soon this will be the status of your room across the street. The dolls, the elephants, the memories that lined the walls will eventually be removed and the bedroom will be only a room. Your signature MaryKay perfume will no longer linger and emptiness will take it’s place. 

It’s 7:25AM. 

I am at my uncles getting ready for work. I hear my aunt downstairs mourning. I hold back tears as I fix my swollen eyes in the mirror. I walk downstairs and Cindy is still having her moment. I embrace her and we cry. She almost gets snot in my hair.

It’s 7:35AM.

I throw my bags in the car, put on my seatbelt and start it. It shakes. It rattles. It was not a good sound. I turn off the car and attempt to restart it, nothing. I walk across the street to my grandparents. Grandma is sitting at the table scrolling through Facebook memories. I walk in with defeat, and fall apart. My car won’t start. She hugs me, It’s okay you can take ours. Grandpa will look at yours. 

It’s not that.. I miss her so much already.