When you died I tried to like Obama because I knew you loved him, but it didn't work. I stopped trying a long time ago and I miss what could have been some great political debates. I hope you were pro-life, but because you died before I was old enough to care too much about that I'll never know. If you were pro-life, that's awesome. If you weren't, I would have you converted in a second.
When you died I listened to every version of Ave Maria for hours on end and cried at every single one. I thought it was a beautiful song, and I even skated to it. Then someone told me that it worshipped Mary, so I stopped listening to it and rolled my eyes at how stereotypical of a Catholic you were for liking that song. But then (not too long ago) someone ELSE told me all the words were taken straight from Luke 1, and I think he was right. Now I love the song again and admire that it was your favorite.
When you died I started drinking tea a lot because it always reminded me of the times you would grab a tea bag and pour hot water into a navy blue or forest green mug, smush the former into the latter with a spoon, and slowly sip while telling me embarassing stories about my mom or insisting I should eat more. I asked for tea for Christmas because it made me sound like a caffeine-dependent hipster, and Jonathan got me some tea leaves of an obscure flavor, along with a tea ball, I think it was called. I brought it to a competition and made myself a cup that I ended up leaving half-full in Katie's car (accidentally). I never got the tea ball back, and in the meantime I realized I like coffee better. I hardly ever drink tea now.
I hope you remember that you taught me how to tie my shoes and how to do my makeup; you taught me that people can't be allergic to other people and that you cross your fingers when you hope for something. I know it's you who inspired me to be a nurse, and I hope you're proud that I'm following in your footsteps.
Now that you're gone I want to go to a Catholic church just to see what you saw in it. I feel alone at Christmastime, even though I'm not. When I wear your clothes I don't care that I look strange, but I do chuckle at how petite you were and savor the feeling of you being close to me again. I try to avoid thinking about you because I still haven't accepted that you're gone and I'm not sure where you are. This is the most I've thought about you in years, and it's really hard. You probably don't know how much I cried and shook my fists at God when you died. For the first two weeks after you died I stayed at Madina's house every night because I couldn't sleep alone. At most funerals, I cry out of admiration for the person and a deep recognition of the peace in my heart, but at yours it was pure and utter despair. And it still is.
I wrote a letter to you, but then I lost it. It was probably really cheesy. I know this blog is really depressing, but just remember that I love you. I remember being scared to hug you because I thought you would shatter into a million pieces, but I think I would give anything to do that right now. I don't want a lot of people to read this, but I'll post it because I took all this time to write it it would be dumb not to. I miss you, and I'm still mad at you for dying. Don't ever do that again.
