I was lying face-down on the bedroom floor, bawling my eyes out. At first, I didn’t even know you were there. But after what seemed like hours had gone by, my sobs calmed down, and you put your arms around me, and told me how much you loved me. Oh yes, I had done many things wrong, engaged in activities that hurt you, but you forgave me and told me to forgive myself. I remember that night so clearly, because the timeline of my life shows a sharp division right at that moment.
It’s one of those before and after milestones that mark a lifetime. Before I met you on that floor, in that room, I lived with a desperate hollow seeking inside. I had been trying to fill that void - first with alcohol and drugs, later with crazy dieting, and finally, with family and possessions. The problem was, I couldn't satisfy it. I could ignore it for a short time, but I was always aware it was there; I had lived with it my whole life. Then, suddenly, on that night, the vacancy filled in and peace reigned.
You were what I sought.
And nearly twenty years later, when I found myself crashing to the floor again, my grief raw as I learned my sister was dead, lost to me - there you were again, comforting me and loving me the same as before. Days later, when I dissolved in tears and all I could do was beg for your help as I tried to write a eulogy of comfort and testimony, you responded to my pleas, covered me with peace, and let my thoughts flow. I poured my aching heart out to you time after time for three long years as I tried to deal with the pain of that loss. You never tired of listening to me. You never told me to just get over it. You never told me I had no reason to keep missing her. You never blamed me, even though I blamed myself. You just loved me and calmed me and held me tight.
Over and over again.