When are you coming down next?

So. A year.
Time doesn't heal all wounds. Let's just dispense with that myth right off the bat.
My independence did not bring me any bold adventure this year because I haven't been independent.
You wouldn't be proud of me: I've taken some wrong turns; I've been complacent; I've been scared; I've let people push me around; I'm starting to get soft; I compromise a lot. Sometimes I feel like giving up. But you would still love me.
I don't want this to be too sad, even though it was the biggest rip-off that Jay and mom and I ever had to deal with.
For the longest time I thought of the various ways that we could have prevented it. And I would make deals with myself: if I can make it to the next line on the sidewalk before a car passes me, it means that you didn't feel any pain. If I can get to the end of the block before the current song ends it means you didn't feel anything. It was like trying to barter with someone after you'd given them all your money.
Mom says it's like you're still up at Lasqueti. When my phone rings when she calls me from there it says that Dad is calling. I just don't think about it. I don't know what Jay does.
But our lives should not be so tied to our deaths. Our lives occured when we were living.
I started laughing tonight when I remembered the time we were all watching "Best in Show" and you got up and walked out.
You'd be displeased that I listen to the French CBC radio station.
I miss your cappuccinos. I miss your phone calls. The random times that you would show up in town and we would all go for dinner. Your penchant for B movies. Your real estate rants. The t-shirts you had that perhaps pre-dated me. The hour long conversations we had about everything. Your attitude. Your lack of materialism. Your sense of humour. Your generosity. How you called me from the bathtub once (even though you didn't say it, I could tell). Your penchant for loofahs. No one could drive a car into the ground like you could. The rose you put in the brass vase by my bedside the last time that I was there. Renovating my bedroom with you at home and at Lasqueti - how many girls have red velvet curtains? Teaching me to drive when I was underage. Hiking with mom and Jay and I to the top of Mount Pemberton. Phosphorous. Kayaking. Boogey boarding. Attempts at windsurfing. Fishing. Buying flowers for mom on the Island before we caught the ferry back home.
I miss who you are.