Mental Health and Family

My brother and best friend. When you were taken from us that Sunday morning I had to become strong and steadfast in so little time while learning to grieve and to know that its ok to still enjoy life and everyday things. It doesnt feel right it feels strange. I want to scream I miss you I want to talk to with you I want you to see all of the progress. I know you're always near but it will never be the same, Until we meet again on the other side. Your little twinish sister

The night is long during a storm.
Between lightning's devastating strikes and
Thunder's cries of pain,
Each moment pulses; elongated and electrified.
The velvet blackness of the sky is timeless;
Minutes and seconds move so slowly
When it's also dark inside.
Each fresh assault highlights the landscape
And reverberates within.
We hold on tight; hold each other up
As we wait to ride out the storm.

Hope emerges with
The light of a bruised dawn.
Like the sky,
We are battered, contused, fatigued;
But beneath it we stand,
Arms and hearts entwined.
Inexperienced and bewildered,
She grasped blindly in the dark.
With the strength of youth,
She pulled us both to our feet.
With determination forged through hardship,
I held her close and refused to let go.
Together, we still stand.
Together, we will weather a new day.
Together, we are stronger than the storm.

A rattle; a shudder.
I turn and face... nothing.
For a fleeting moment,
Confusion reigns.
I pause, then pick up
The threads of today.  
A life - infused with colour,
Discourse, demands and distractions -
Drowns out what I know deep down is real.
Later, in the stillness,
It beckons me again,
Only this time in silence.
A presence rather than a sound
Draws me back towards the box.
It's been a while;  
I'd almost dared to hope
Its grip on me had vanished;
That the power within had died.
 
When those weary days were done,
I placed them all inside the box.
Their minutes spent; their hours full -  
Too full to hold inside one mind;
Too intense for a mortal to contain
Their colours rich and dark
As images swirled and merged and pooled like blood.
Summer scenes of countryside and friends
Turned ghoulish on the pages
As the ink spread out to reveal
The images of nightmares.
I picked them up and folded them together,
Their burnished edges catching at my fingers
Even as I gently folded the pages,
Stroking them closed
As though to calm the horrors within.
I placed them in the box
With plenty of space to breathe.
I sealed the box with steely threads
Fashioned from Determination and Will,
Then tucked it away on top of a cupboard
Where it would now remain
Quite pacified; no longer volatile.
And then, with time,
It grew silent, still.
The pages' fractious energy was spent -  
Burnt out -  
And life could once again resume.
 
I stand, and pace the room
Face upturned to survey the box.
Its contents draw me inexorably:
They will not rest
Until I reach inside
And view them once again
In the fresh light of today.
I tremble now, unsure what I will find.
Have the colours mellowed with age;
The images composed themselves  
With the benefit of hindsight?
Or will those pages once again unleash
The horrors they once held?
One thing I know for sure:
I will crack open the box
And peek through cautious fingers at the pages within
Before they burst their shackles
And explode from the box all by themselves.
 
So this is how it goes:
All that is left to do is be courageous
And to open it.