But what really gets to me is that I somehow can be taken back to that day where my father and I walked around the block, holding hands. I had known that something was wrong. My mother's face pale in shock. My father pulling me up onto the trunk of his car, to tell me that she was gone. The first time my father cried in front of me. This all comes back when I least expect it to. And though I have accepted her death, I still can't accept that there is always something missing from me.
I watched Peter Jackson's, The Lovely Bones, tonight. It is strange to see grief that reminds me of home. I wonder if Erica has let us go. She came to me when I was 16. That isn't something I like to tell many people. But when she came to me, I knew that it was the beginning for her to leave us. I remember crying and begging for her to visit my stepmother. And I wasn't too sure if it would happen, as we all began to heal. She had visited my father, but only briefly.
When I went back home last weekend, my stepmother ran a marathon of 6 miles. On the 4th mile, she wasn't too sure if she would make it all the way through. In that second, my stepmother's song for Erica played on her mix. She was able to carry herself the two miles, as she ran faster than she had before. My father was at the end of the race and she found herself falling with exhaustion and crying with relief. She told me that she knew that Erica was there. And something inside me knew that this was her goodbye.
"Nobody notices when we leave. I mean, the moment when we really choose to go. At best you might feel, a whisper or the wave of a whisper..."
-Susie Salmon
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