Alana, life

Been thinking about Alana all weekend. I've been carrying her with me since I woke up to read that text message from my sister.

When I woke up both Saturday and Sunday to clean up big thick steamy piles of dog diarrhea and ran outside in my backyard to get some air because I had to puke, I thought of her.

When I was sitting on the couch with a stomachache, also forcing gatorade down my ailing husband's throat, I thought of her.

When I was driving down the road to CVS to pick up stupid expensive prescriptions, pepto, and buttwipes, I noticed that the day was beautiful and sunny and there were white puffy clouds in the sky, and I thought of her.

When we were feeling a little better, and went to the grocery store, and my sweet funny husband placed the cucumber and avocados on the belt in a "non-phallic" arrangement, I thought of her.

When I put a load of laundry in the wash, cleaned the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, snuggled my husband, I thought of her.

I thought of the shitty things in life, and how insignificant they are compared to how things could be. Life is sweet and I found myself appreciating the small moments with my husband more than I normally would. Even amidst some seriously un-ideal situations.
Because I've been reminded again how fragile and precious life is.

Someone wonderful dies way too soon and the rest of the world moves on and it keeps spinning and people still have to go to work and dinner still needs cooking and the laundry needs washing because you still need clean underwear and Alana's body is lying in a morgue somewhere instead of cooking in her kitchen and kissing her husband and washing her underwear and that's just it and it blows my mind. I'm still not convinced it's real. I keep thinking that I'll wake up and it'll be a mistake or a bad fucking dream. I'm not sure I can stand to see my sister grieving because there's nothing I can do about it.