The 19th has passed. The third anniversary of my sister’s brutal murder in a murder-suicide performed by her recently made ex-boyfriend. This was my rude awakening into Domestic Violence and its horrors.
It’s like I have a heightened awareness of domestic relations now. My ears perk up listening for clues into controlling behavior while my heart wrenches when I think I see narcissistic-obsessed people living with those close to me.
It still remains, though, as adults we make choices and we must be responsible for those choices. The lessons I am choosing to learn is to pay more attention to my loved ones and to listen better. I can’t call her and say, “Don’t go to that concert, you have no obligation to him.” It’s much too late to send off any warnings, “Cristi, I don’t really like Joe.” Besides, there’s always the argument of whether or not someone will “hear” you when they think they are in love.
There’s something that also seems empty about the anniversary of Cristi’s death. I think it’s because we live so far away. Everyone is in Michigan. The grave is in Michigan. The mourning, it seems, takes place in Michigan. So, the 19th came and went with a phone call and my mother telling me how she and my step-father would visit the grave. But that’s it. We don’t call each other. We don’t discuss our feelings regarding our sadness or sorrow or simply just missing her.
I’m not really sure what we’re supposed to do, either. We have to live, we have to move on. And sometimes to do that you just reflect privately and mention what you’re doing if someone asks. But, again, it seems empty and unfulfilled. But, maybe that’s I still do feel partially responsible even if I logically recognize I am not.