6 feet apart.

Have you ever had an emotion so big. So all consuming. So life changing. Altering. Defining. That you literally cannot feel it? You look back and you try to recall it. And it's just nothing. A void. Even specific parts of the memory, the feelings, are gone. It's just empty. 

My brother died when I was 13 years old. He was hit by a car. But I can't feel the emotions associated with Jordan dying. Is that normal? That can't be normal, right? It can't be what they call "healthy"? There has to be some way to tap into that part of my soul and feel it. I WANT to feel it. I WANT to remember him. To hold the memories of us in my hands and see every side of it. Every perspective. To reflect on our relationship. Our conversations. Our bond. I want to remember his face. His voice. His mannerisms. His laugh. Him. I want to remember him. But I can't. 

Is this what it is like to be broken? That some parts of my life. Are so BIG. So damaged. So dark. That my mind just erased them. And every feeling associated with it. I want to remember him. I want to grieve for him. For this amazing thing I lost. I want to be the kind of person that can look on my brother with fondness and with longing. But I'm so damaged I just erased him. Who deals with emotion like that? Who holds their pride so closely that they pass off numbness and nothingness as some kind of badge of strength. I'm not strong. I'm just pathetic. My entire brain has blacked out parts of my LIFE. Not just parts. But integral PEOPLE. Erased them. Because actually feeling the pain of losing him was too much for me. What would that pain have felt like. Initially there WAS a type of pain. I remember that much. But it's all hazy and muddled. I wish I could even feel THAT watered down maybe pain now. Anything would be better than nothing. 

Stale Coffee and Antibacterial Hand Gel

-Jillian Whitney

My life has been torn apart,

as if it were a fresh juicy slab of meat a tiger has torn to shreds.

I retreat into a tiny ball on the floor holding my bleeding heart.

The sick are rushed past me on their soiled beds.

A few nurses stroll by, but I go unnoticed as I break into a cold sweat.

I try to hide my face and bid all farewell,

burying it in the rigid, scratchy carpet.

It smells of stale coffee and antibacterial hand gel.

I’ve heard crying helps but no emotions will surface.

Weakly I pound my fist into the foul carpet, but still I feel nothing.

I curl further into his favorite sweatshirt; my new special place. 

I exhale harshly trying to force out all the vile smells that cling.  

He was my favorite smell;

Brute deodorant and sweat. 

This place makes it different like a mutilated cell, 

it’s weaker, as if I already should forget.

I turn my shell of a body towards the gray, dank hallway wall.

Silently I pray, “Stay with me. I can’t be without you.

You took him. Give me the strength to at least crawl.

I’ve become that story of a broken heart with no glue.” 

I stare at the wall blankly. I feel nothing. I hear nothing. I want to yell.

I smell stale coffee and antibacterial hand gel.