Dear Darling

01

Josephine

Deep breaths. That's what I'm supposed to do when I'm feeling anxious. Lately, all I am is anxious, but there's only so much air I can breathe deeply before it feels like I'm breathing water.

I walk through the day with legs that feel like they're full of cement and a brain that is always in a haze. Theresa says that I need to get past my grief; I need to accept that April is gone and begin moving on. But the fact is that I have accepted that my baby sister is gone; I've accepted that I can't get her back, the part I'm having trouble with is "moving on."

How can I move on from that? It's been two months since the accident, and the pain is still fresh in my heart. Theresa and David have moved on and now they act as though April wasn't even there to begin with; I know that maybe that's just their way of coping with the loss of their child, but they could at least talk about her.

I miss April every day. I thought that writing that letter would ease some of the pain in my chest, that sending my words out into the world would allow me to chip away at the cold mourning that surrounds my soul now. It's been nearly a week and I feel entirely the same. I still feel that gaping hole in my heart and the emptiness in my brain where I've replayed every interaction with April over and over. My baby sister, only six years old, was a bigger part of my life than any other person I know.

Now, as I sit at a terribly awkward "family dinner," I'm faced with the realization that if April were here, there would be lively conversation and laughter around this table. Nobody speaks now, we avoid looking at or talking to each other. My fork scrapes against my plate while I pick at my food; I haven't had much of an appetite lately, food doesn't have any appeal to me anymore. Theresa's usually voluminous blonde hair falls limp on her slouching shoulders - before, Theresa would never slouch or let her hair fall flat - it just wasn't acceptable for the image she showed those around her. David's hair is grayer than normal - he looks tired. Like life has chewed him up and suddenly spit him out and he landed flat on his ass. Though there was a time when I had called him Dad, he's been David to me ever since Mom died. For almost ten years, he's cared for me and fed me and loved me, but he's also not the Dad I knew.

When he met Theresa, he came alive again. He smiled all the time and he made jokes again and he revamped old family traditions that he seemed to forget in the immediate years after his first wife died. He had seemed to forget that his daughter had lost her mother just as he had lost his matrimonial partner, but when he met the pretty young blonde, he suddenly remembered all that had been good in his life.

"How was work, Jo?" Theresa asked, breaking the thick silence that had coated the dining room. I shrugged.

"Fine,"

"Just fine? No crazy customers or righteously good tips?" She attempted a smile, but it melted just as quickly as it formed. She was trying, I had to remind myself, she was trying to find neutral ground where we could have a "normal" conversation.

"Calvin wants to talk about promoting me to manager," I told her. David looks up from his steak at this news.

"Well," He says. "That's good. You work so hard, it's about time they recognized your efforts."

His voice is gruff. Straight to the point. He's all business, even with his wife and daughter. I guess that losing a kid really shuts down an already cold man's heart.

"Yeah," Is all I can manage to say.

"I think it's great, sweetheart," My stepmother says. She looks at me with sympathy in her eyes and I know she's trying to apologize for my father's distance.

"May I be excused?" I ask. I can't be here any longer. I just want to be in my room, away from the chilliness that has crept into this room.

"Sure," Theresa speaks softly.