come home.

You’re a stubborn ass, but stubborn isn’t what you need to be right now.

Being the oldest daughter/sibling puts a lot of responsibility on me, especially in situations like this. I have to hold it together so the younger ones don’t see me break.
You always taught me that. In the toughest situations, hold it together so nobody sees me fall. I can’t let you hear me cry, you need to hear me tell the others how you’ll be up and once you’re better, you’ll be telling us to do this and do that, like you always have.

Well, who told you to do that?
I never taught you that way.
Kevin, Keith and I never did it like that.
You kids and this new shit.

I never thought of being in this situation because I didn’t want it to become a reality, but sometimes it hits you and you can’t run from it, like we run from 90% of our problems. I brought a Johnny Cash book with me to the hospital to read to you today. You always told me I talked too much, but now you can’t tell me, “what the hell are you talking about?”

Remember when I was little? Your hands were too big to hold my little baby hand, so I’d always hold your pinky. It was the perfect size for my hand to grip onto. We held hands like that for years and then it stopped. Yesterday I held your hand like that again and it felt so normal. It was our normal.

On your bad days, we’d spend our time sending each other songs. It was the love language that we had created for ourselves. I think we started it soon after I moved out. We’re both hardheaded, stubborn, and don’t like to talk on our feelings too much, so the music helped. Each time My Little Girl comes on, I skip it. It pulls at every part of me and I can’t bare the thought of anything else other than you coming home.

Patiently waiting for you to wake up. We love you.