I think that I’ve finally accepted that Ed isn’t with us anymore. I’ve accepted how he passed, how I will never see or touch or hug or kiss my brother ever again. I’ve accepted that he will never breathe again, that I will never be able to watch him sleep peacefully with that slightly troubled look on his face as I did this last March. I’ve accepted that I’m not going to give him another Christmas or birthday gift again.

That doesn’t mean I don’t hate it. I absolutely hate it, and I’m still angry about it. I’m mad at everyone who didn’t take his illness seriously and anyone who set him aside as someone who wasn’t “important enough” to talk to or get to know.

But then on the flip side of that, I’m also really grateful to the people who did treat him very well and did try to get to know him, people like my closest friends, my Chris, and the pastor at his church.

Ed doesn’t want me to be angry all the time. I know he just wants his “strong” little sister to be happy, so I’m going to try my best, for his sake, to not be angry at the world for him… because he wouldn’t have wanted that.

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