here is something i would love to tell ten-year-old me:

stop. take a minute. look at your parents. look at how much they love you. sure you are young, but god, Kira, you've always understood deeply. and i know you can understand this.

love them hard. love them outright and outspokenly and through good conversation. love them by being utterly you- but a little less complaining. love them by hiking up that mountain with a smile on your face because they'll be so proud. and their pride is all you want.

but most importantly, you'll have so much less time with him.

at eleven:
go out to the garden he's building, help. or just sit on the deck and talk about your day. talk about how you remember writing the song about Addie. talk about your favorite color and how it brought you and April closer together. talk about how much you love annoying mommy. talk about how one day the boys will be in college and it'll just be you three at home and how you can knock the wall down between your closets and have two rooms. just talk, Kira, talk, and talk and talk.

at twelve:
when he reads your poems, explain. tell him how you agree the pain was partly diffusion. that surely you're so empathetic you took on the sadness. but also it's real. what you feel is valid and explain. tell him sometimes it hurts so much you really don't want to live. but you agree. that it didn't really affect you until she said something. that it really didn't need to affect you at all. cry into his chest and let him hug you. let him solve all the problems you can think of with his presence.

at thirteen:
when he explains his religious views, understand him. ask more questions than you thought you needed. let the conversation go into his childhood and learn about that. experience peace rallies and disappointed parents and how that turned him into an atheist. let those ideas influence you. let his, maybe not award winning but still pretty intelligent, words influence your own thoughts.

and at fourteen:
when he takes your picture, smile. he wants to document your middle school graduation. he wants to see you with the people you've grown up with and stood out from. he wants your walk down the elementary halls to be meaningful because he knows it is. when he calls you beautiful, it's because you are. it's because your his daughter and his muse and his reason for protecting and pushing.

at fifteen:
when he's playing the music, listen. get off your phone. ask him questions. ask him what his first concert was. ask him when and who he went with and what he did. ask him who he first fell in love with. just because you'd like to know what life was like before mommy. just because you'd like to know everything about his life. ask him why he loves the folky songs he does. what it means to him. what a song with a story means to him. when he's playing the music appreciate that his hands work, and his breath isn't fake, and his body can move. ask for a beer so you can have one together.

and then:
when he's in the hospital, tell him you love him. don't cry. don't whimper and pity. don't think about whether or not he's in pain. just speak. just say it all like you should've throughout your life. tell him how grateful you are, how excited for summer you are, how much you love him and love him and love him and love him and how much you hope he knows. when he's looking at the boys in their prom tuxes, say that'll be you in a few years. make everyone groan. do your 'little sister' bit. he smiles at that. make a funny face, kiss his cheek, remind him you love him so so sos ososososos much, say it more even after it becomes cheesy. say it so much it doesn't sound like a real word anymore. say it so much you have to get dragged out of his room. say it for every day of your life, every birthday, every minute, every important event he was there for and everything he has to miss.

just be there. be present. be real, Kira.

you weren't doing well already. your skin was falling from your face in yellow-skinned sunken smiles and faint snores that used to roar as you napped. my tears were hidden behind my computer screen when i saw you lay down to rest. always scared it would turn worse.

and a year ago today, it did.

i was in biology and the boys in ihs when i got the text. i never expected it would be me. i never thought i would have the 'expected call' sort of life. it was the speed walk from biology that i remember. the people passing me who i had to ignore. the sob i tried to soften. the lump that made it impossible to smile or speak or recognize anything except for my siblings and the sun outside. of course it was sunny outside. of course nothing in this world led me to believe today could be a bad day.

and a year after that, it was the same.

i couldn't stop the tears from coming. back then i was emotional in different ways. the heart i never imagined to be broken i wore on my sleeve. the smile that dressed my face was sincere everytime i met eyes with a stranger. i was excited about things i didn't know, and my sadness was consistenly superficial. so the tears came quickly, easily, as if i was surprised by the news as i hid them behind our bronze suburban.

and a year ago today, i had been.

it was the uncertainty of the situation that had me breaking. it was the fact i had no knowledge of what was going to happen. it was the idea that the only moments we had had together had been paper thin hands holding mine and music that spoke to our souls at the twilight hour. i did not want to be there, as much as i felt i should. but the night time drive and frozen cookie dough calmed my tremoring hands.

and a year after that, they do the same.

a year ago today i lost some hope. i felt a dynamic shift in the way of our house. where eight o'clock pm the door would open with a flurry of excitement and dog nails scraping over our hardwood floors there was silence. a cold and sad emptiness to the home that had created the childish laughter stored in me.

and a year ago today, it is the same.

a night in
for the two of us
was tv on low and stereo playing all your favorite songs
stolen moments at twilight

i asked for a star
any star
so you reached up and let the hair on your arms turn to ash
just to grab me the sun

this is my life
it's chaotic in the most beautiful ways
it's graying at some roots
but it's bursting with
color
and new friendships
in places I never knew would exist
in me
There are a million places I haven't seen
but every day
that I go somewhere and experience
something I get a little
closer to where I feel I'm supposed to be
everywhere

i wish i said more

to you

i wish i had spent less time staring at

old text messages

and spoken in our quiet car rides

up to the games

you always supported me at

i wish i asked for more to do-

for bookshelf making

and garden planting

now with so much regret between you and i

i demand to

never
regret
again

i will do everything i dream

i will write the stories i have yet to

experience

i will speak of

the truth

and you will be

proud of my

adventures and abilities