Content Warning: grief, addiction, death, strong language, loss of a sibling

I fucking hate writing obituaries.

Don’t get me wrong. I want to honor my loved ones.
But I can’t believe I’ve needed to write so many lately.

You know this morning of the I’m going to meet up with a friend then get my hair done?
It didn’t quite go that way.

I’m numb
I’m in shock

Right now I’m back on the porch
listening to Father John Misty on repeat
may just move out here

My youngest sister, Cherokee, was found dead at 44 this morning

Forty fucking four

We don’t know the official cause of death yet
but it’s a matter of public record that she struggled with addiction
I say that not to shame her or anyone struggling, 

but to say
go get some fucking help
listen to your loved ones

When they beg you to get help
if you’re struggling

PLEASE!

I have been scream crying
wailing
furious at school buses and people walking and 

pretty much every damn body all day

I’ve had a few hours of relative calm
those when I was first told, in shock
and then when I did the things I needed to do
because life doesn’t have the decency to stop 

when you lose someone. 

Then it hits again

No
No
No
No
No

I am hoarse now and I don’t care that I am. 

Today, love means I am writing another fucking obituary. 

NO, I AM NOT OKAY!

But I will be. I will be. 

My mom was so sick when Cherokee was born that I, at 11, kind of took over and cared for her as if she were my own child because my dad worked so much.

I diapered her
fed her
bathed her
nursed her when she was sick
taught her to read
told her bedtime stories

I’m not saying my mother didn’t do anything
but she was sick for months
and by the time she was better
I had a routine down

Later, when Cher fell into addiction, 

we all tried to get her to seek help

Tried.

I tried to just get her to go for coffee with me recently

She wouldn’t, basically said she was too antisocial. Maybe she thought I was going to attempt to guilt her into getting clean again. 

I brought her art supplies by and tried to find clothes to fit her petite frame 

She had started writing poetry and drawing tattoo art

She loved singing

I told her I was here
if she ever wanted to talk
if she ever wanted me to help her find resources 

She went to rehab a couple of times

Why didn’t I try begging one more time?

I know, I know: until they’re ready, until they’re willing, there’s not a damn thing you can do. 

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she couldn’t survive long in a world without our mother

Cher lost her partner of many years to addiction in 2019

Barry asked what I need
what I want
right now

Not a thing
Not a goddamned thing
except for the people I love to 

stop 

fucking 

dying

PLEASE!

Cherokee, Cher, Sis, Sissy, Funny Bunny, My Monchhichi. 

I hope you’ve found some peace. I wish I could’ve helped you find it here. I’ll miss you.