I have been away from my creative self for so very long; consumed by grief and struggling under the weight of loss.  For almost three years I have been defined by illness and death.  I assumed the roles of watcher and caretaker.  I gave over my heart and my strength.  I don’t regret it.  I truly got to know my brother and to show him how much I loved him.  I wouldn’t have chosen to do anything else but be there for him, as a friend and a sister and to try to quell his fear.

Now that he is gone, I am led, inevitably, to thinking about how much of my life has revolved around loss.  Loss of loved ones, loss of freedoms and of course, loss of vision.  There are so many things that just aren’t there anymore. It is as if my mother and my brother and the edges of the world have fallen into an abyss that I will never be able to gaze upon or reach.  I realize how losing my vision is so much more like a death than I had ever known; they are both disappearance, silence and blackness. Some days it is as if I have forgotten that my brother has gone and I pick up the phone to call him and tell him about a new mystery show I have found that I know he would love; I forget how much of my vision is gone and I walk along the sidewalk as if I can see the whole world, until I  fall into shadow and watch the sidewalk fade away.

Perhaps I fall into these moments of forgetting so I can cope with all the other moments; when I wish that I could hear my brothers voice, feel my mothers comforting arms and look into the brightness of the afternoon.

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