I cried today. Not a lot, just a little. It felt good. I was remembering exactly six years ago when I made a phone call, and the info I received - that Ry had died - changed me. It was a Sunday morning.
I remember hanging up the phone. The specifics I recall about his death are so strange and disjointed. After I returned the phone to the cradle, I was struck by how contradictory it was for the sun to be so bright, so shining. It felt wrong. It was nice and warm, streaming through the window onto my crumpled face. Nothing should be allowed to be so beautiful and soothing when I wanted nothing more than to sink straight through my bed and into the center of the earth.
Next, I remember being upstairs in my parents room. I told them. For some reason I felt the need to tell each of my sisters individually, as well. I remember sitting on the floor of some one's closet for a few minutes, in the dark - I don't know why.
The next truly vivid memory I have is of later in the day, right befo