I hope it’s peaceful where you are, because here we can’t get any fucking rest. Lately I’ve come to realise that accepting your death and “moving on” doesn’t mean I have to forget you. I was so scared that if I didn’t remember your story, you would truly be dead (because I never had anything else). I can’t say things like “remember when…” or “I still remember her smile…” because, very simply, I don’t. But dear Bronte, I still remember lots and lots of things about you, and I believe that I will remember you for years to come.
But I want to remember the good bits. God knows, most of my memories of you are filled with anguish and pain. I think what hurt most about your death is that nothing was what you wanted. Unlike other angels I know who were pain free and unafraid; you, my darling one, you were scared shitless. You had so much more to do. You hated school and hated being sick. You spent most of your summer watching movies in bed because it hurt too much to move. You battled cancer for five years and you’d had enough. That’s why the word anguish is so fitting of your death.
So instead of all that, miss Bronte, I want to remember the girl who was cheeky, positive, smart, fun and honest. I want to remember you as the girl who was never without her sweet treats—nerds, donuts, zappos, and lollies. I’ll remember the girl who found fun in the simple things. When I watch ‘The Lion King’ or rim my eyes with eyeliner—just like you perfected—I’ll remember you. I want you to be happy Bronte; I want you to be pain free. Sometimes I feel like you are just a room away, like you’ve only stepped out. It used to seem like no time had passed since I heard of your adventures to the city or dancing with your friends. But now you seem quite far away and unattainable. I want to instill some of your cheeky energy into my life, and others lives to come, so through me everyone can know a little bit of your spirit.
I’m not scared of dying anymore and I’m not scared that everyone else will die either. And I’m not even scared that I won’t live a good life. I am content with where we are now. After all, death does not end a relationship. I am going to say goodbye to you now my dear. It’s not the type of goodbye where I won’t be able to think about you, or remember you on special days. It’s the type of goodbye where I will let go of all the pain you had in your life, and I will cherish all the joy instead.
I can’t wait to get to the point in my life where I can say, ‘look at what we had’ instead of, ‘look at what we lost’. I’m going to get to that point someday Bronte, just give me a little time. Send a couple of lightening storms to keep me company, let the flowers from your grave grow a little more and give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change and the courage to change them anyway.
Goodbye Bronte. I’ll love you forever, I hope you know.