She’s gone. But she’s everywhere.
I can still smell her. I still hear her laugh, see her gestures; the way she used to play with her hair. Everything about her is still so close, within reach.
Sometimes I can almost hear her talking to me. I close my eyes and can feel her around me and indwelling me.
I try to remember the shape of her hands. Hands that I looked at my whole life. Hands that held me when I needed a hug. Hands that fought for me when no one else would. Hands that wrote beautiful stories and quirky poems. Her hands touched many lives and she probably didn’t even realize it. When 500 people showed up at her wake and memorial, I was reminded that it was impossible not to love Dinah.
I miss her. I miss everything about her. Even her imperfections were beautiful. She loved voraciously.
She was spirited.
She was creative.
She was luminous.
She was Dinah.
- Memoirs of a Sister: Day 2
- Dear Suicide