FUCK.

Fuck,  Nate

I wish you were here. 

I had to tell our birth mom you died. (she was almost relieved it was you and not Grandpa.. You know how much I love him, but he has 70 years on you..WTF!? ) I called our birth dad too. That was hard. I just wish you were here so I could punch you. And then I would hug you and NEVER let go.

Do you remember that time when mom left us in the bathtub for hours? She had just gotten us back the day before-and was already drinking. We were both so cold and hungry. Although I remember this as a story- I know we both remember the shivering hunger in our bodies. Especially because we re-experienced it many times in our addiction.

Sometimes when the screaming and fighting would begin, I would take you outside- crawling through the raspberry bushes, we would swing until the screaming grew faint- or the sirens came. Sometimes we hid in the closet. I used to bribe you with candy to keep you quiet and read you the boxcar children until you fell asleep. I wonder if you remember this..

Before we were adopted, we lived with Rachelle and Denny. I know you remember this. You would always sneak into our room at night and without fail make us laugh. Somehow mom always caught us, as quiet and sneaky as we thought we were. We would always get put in the corner and proceed our conversations through the sliding of notes and secret code hand symbols. 
On vacation, when we didn't have to sit on the floor and no longer got to ride in the bed of the truck (see: the one where seat belts became a thing) we would turn our seats around facing the back window (me, you, Rachelle, and Crystal) and escape into a whole other world. 

The best was when we were being baby-sat by our love-drunk teenage foster siblings. (Remember Crystal and Dean?) You would always run away and get them in trouble for some reason or another. You were definitely the ring leader of every adventure that ended in spankings, time-outs, or groundings. Secretly, these were my favorite adventures. We were both so patient when it came to hiding from grown-ups, I think we both mastered this at an age far too young. I was definitely better at the hiding and seeking, but you were pretty good too. I guess we can call it a tie.

I'm sorry for that time I choked you after you pulled out a chunk of my hair. Also, it wasn't an accident when I ran into your skateboard with my bike and you had to get stitches. I know you already know that- I just wish you would admit that it's your fault I got blood all over my Lion King outfit and couldn't bring in cupcakes for my 1st grade birthday. I hope that was one of your biggest regrets.

There are so many things I wish I could say to you, so many questions left unasked. I regret that we were both so persistently stubborn, that neither of us could be vulnerable enough to admit defeat. 

I wonder if you were afraid that night, if you knew you were going to die. I wonder what your last thought was-if you felt any pain at all. I'm told you felt fucking amazing before everything went black. That makes me feel good. 

You were supposed to call me back that night- I wish I would have called you. I knew in your voice something was off. It sucks that we learned so early to never trust our guts.

I wonder where you are now.. I know it must be better than here. People we love believe you are burning in hell, and that makes me cringe😡

I thought us both invincible. We had survived so much. HOW CAN YOU BE THE ONE THAT'S DEAD- AND OUR SICKO BIRTH PARENTS ARE STILL ALIVE? This makes me SO angry. She was dead. It should be her-not you. I want it to be her, and I don't feel bad about that. It's their fault we have this disease! This is the unfairest thing of all the unfair things! Life is so hard and beyond confusing. I wish we could go back to building forts and swimming outside for hours on end, to watching reruns of Rugrats and Land Before Time. 

I'll never be okay with this.. just like I was never okay with you pushing my pillow out the window on our way to Tennessee. Life seems even more daunting without you here. You were my sidekick, a serious kick in my side. (you ALWAYS kicked me when we had to share the couch at Aunt Judy's) You were the only other human who had been through it all with me, who got it without having to say so, who knew the fear without speaking a word, who got the same twisted feeling in their stomach when they heard the word God.

They put your middle name in the obituary. I told them you would hate that. Mom and Dad are SO beyond devastated, everyone is! I've never heard them cry like that. The funeral service was a Christian convert ceremony beyond compare--even though not everyone in that building worshipped a power named God or even believed in one- I know this wouldn't surprise you. Regardless of spiritual/political beliefs, everyone in the sanctuary shared the same love and deep sadness for you. Your friends even got up to speak and share their favorite memories- this would have made you smile.

I really hate life right now, and I especially hate the word God. I'm still sober, but it really sucks. I wish you were here. I wish you were here. I just really wish you were fucking here.

(Mom doesn't care if we say fuck if we're REALLY mad, remember?)

FUCK THIS. FUCK THIS. FUCK THIS. FUCK THIS.

</3 Nat