Chapter twenty-nine

Istand in front of my old childhood home for the last time, memories of being beaten, tormented, and left for dead dancing in front of my eyes.

I walk through the front door and my heart sinks at seeing how empty the house is. All the furniture and belongings were either sold or thrown out. When I look over the living room, I see Mom dancing to "Te Conozco Bien" by Marc Anthony while I stand on her feet. I shake the memory away and make my way to Josiah's room.

The sadness holds my heart in a tight grip as soon as I open the door. His woodsy scent lingers in the air. Tears trickle down my face; his memory lives within these walls. The movers boxed up his belongings, and I asked them to leave them for me to sift through.

I walk toward the box in the middle of the room labeled "Josiah's stuff" and open it with trembling hands. I drop to my knees as I stare at the remnants in the box. All that is left of my brother.

Pictures of us as kids, basketball cards he collected, a Zippo lighter, the letters I sent him when he was locked up, a letter from Elisa with her picture attached, a picture of us from the apple orchard in a popsicle stick frame, and his favorite Walkman. I laugh and wipe my nose, putting the earphone jacks in my ears and press play. "Crossroads" by Bone Thugs Harmony fills my ears.

Memories assault my mind when I think about his deep laugh; a smile that always brightened my mood; playing Super Mario Brothers for hours; his hugs, his protectiveness; his love for me; when he braided my hair because Mom was working all the time, and all the times we played He-Man.

He took care of me, and I wished that he had allowed me to be there for him this last year as he fought and struggled to get past the sadness and hopelessness he was feeling. It hurts so much knowing I didn't get a chance to tell him how much I love him, and how proud I was to be his sister, and how proud I was that he is my brother. He was the best person I know, and now he will never know how much he meant to me.

Now that he has passed away, there is emptiness, pain, confusion, and anger at his death coming at such a young age, but in many ways, the gift of Josiah's life is still here with me. He lives on in my memories and stories.

I slide down the wall and a giant sob escapes me as I cover my face with shaky hands. I cry out the grief of losing the one person who never gave up on me and who left me behind to deal with the aftermath.

"Sis, if one day I want to give up, would you be mad at me?" Jo asks on the floor with his back against the bed.

I sit up and ask, "What do you mean? Do you want to give up?"

"No, but what if I can't deal with it anymore? What if I want to let go? Will you forgive me?"

"I don't want you to go, but I don't like that you're hurting. But yes, Jo, I will forgive you because you are my brother. I will be there for you. You won't be alone. Just wait for me, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll wait for you."

"Why, Jo? Why did you leave me? You pro-promised me you wouldn't le-leave me," I cry, tremors racking through me.

"It's okay, sis. Everything will be okay,"I hear Jo's voice repeat in my head.

No, it will never be okay. A part of me died the moment you left this earth.

An hour later, I reach into my back pocket and pull out the letter Donnie wrote to me after Jo passed away. He tucked it underneath my pillow one night.

You said you're broken, but I am willing to fix you. If you feel like you're drowning, I will be your lifeline. I will keep you warm when you're cold. And if you get lost on the way to a better place, I'll find you. And when you can't breathe, I'll rip out my lungs for you. I'll give you my heart so yours can beat. I will always love you and ALL your beautiful broken pieces.