Stand Tall

Nik used to look into my face as if he were memorizing every line. He scooted along the floor like a turtle, rather than crawl, and he would stop in his track, raise his head, and peer at his surroundings. We called him turtle for a short time. He adored his big sister, DaNae, and she would hold him up on the couch and cuddle him. They had a strong bond, those two, strengthened by years of love. Fighting and bickering, a regular occurrence only seemed to tighten the bond, rather than breaking it.

DaNae had just turned 20 when Nik died, and her biggest problem was discovering that many of her friends refused to let her deal with his death. It was simpler for them to ignore the elephant in the room. It’s not that they didn’t love her, it’s that they didn’t understand the grieving process. They didn’t know what to say, how to act, or how to be there for her.

Time, I think, has softened the rough edges, and perhaps, decreased the size of the hole Nik’s death left in her heart. She misses her brother, and dreams of him often. She wears a Nik necklace at all times, and has his name tattooed on her foot, because he always helped her stand tall.