The "18th"

Deborah's first angelversary is coming up and I can't believe it's almost been a year.  It will also be the first birthday of this blog---give or take a couple of days. I can't remember the exact date when I encouraged my mom to start writing but I knew it would be a good platform to write down thoughts and just talk about what it has been like since her passing and onward. This blog has become something more then just Deborah's story as you can see in many of the recent entries.

Our family has talked about what we want to do on the 18th; however, everyone has their own idea. Our conflicting schedules does not help either. I've thought about bringing my guitar to her grave to play a song we would often sing together. I thought about going to the bridge at exactly 9pm on the day since it is believed that was the time she jumped. One of my sisters wanted to go away for the day and my father was thinking of visiting her grave in the early morning. Our plans for the day are as of yet not decided.

I've been thinking about how I want to honor Deborah's life. Months back I had this crazy idea to write about Deborah but it was too hard. I don't know how some writers can write such vulnerable stories. I couldn't write past the first few sentences. I've always liked reading stories that have a beginning, middle and end. By the end there is an explanation as to why everything happened. I can't write about Deborah if I still at this point, a year later, have no idea why she ended her life. I have no 'conclusion' to write about here.  


Deborah was one of a kind. It's hard to describe someone who was a lot of things to many people. To me, she was 1/3 of my heart. Being so close in age, it was so easy to talk to her about things as she either was already dealing with it---or in a short period time would be. She was my 'perfect harmony' though sometimes she would do some weird things with her voice. Mom always said she would make the perfect Opera singer.  She was the first person I opened up to in a letter explaining the difficulty of being ill and not having an answer for it. I remembered she listened and in a stunning moment she said in other terms---I get it. Deborah was funny not because she could tell jokes but because she could walk into the room and leave people laughing just by scrunching her nose or doing something silly with her limbs.