Tomorrow it will be 9 years since I've touched her skin. 9 years since I've massaged her hands. 9 years since I've hugged her. Kissed her hair. 9 years and 5 days since I've heard her voice. 10 years since I've heard her real voice.
I'm feeling it today. More than usual. It hasn't been this heavy since the 5 year mark. That was a bad, bad year.
Today marks 9 years since the worst day of my life. I've had some horrific days. Hit by her first husband. Molested by a family member. When my beloved sister ran away from home - that's in the top 3. I've lost babies, one of them in the most traumatic of ways. The day I found out she was dying. The day I had to tell her she didn't have as long as she and Dad thought she did. To tell her I'd known all along, I'd done the research and knew she was far more advanced than she realised. The day she died. The day my son was beaten at school.
But this. This is the worst day ever. And today, I'm reliving it. I can't stop shaking. I'm hurt and angry - so, so angry. Indignant. It is the one day of the year I just want revenge. Of course, there is none to be had. Years later, I understand. My sisters, they were grieving just like me. My grandmother. She was losing her firstborn.
My Aunt though? If I lived a thousand years, I'll never forgive her. My contempt for her has not waned in 9 years. It has not shifted, it has not lessened. It is hot and red and furious. She took away the final day of my mother's life. She made us deal with these accusations on the very last full day she would have on this earth.
It's 9 years, and I cannot find the words. I've not spoken to her in 9 years. My father wants us to do something next year. On the tenth anniversary. He was talking about just my brothers and sisters and him. Just us. Joel thinks we should invite her siblings and parents too. I want to. But as long as I'm alive - Susan will not be. It's all I've got left.