Mental Health Journal: A Special Letter

Special Note: This will not be like my normal Mental Health Journal. This is a special letter to my little sister who passed away in 2006. It’s raw. It’s emotional. It’s heavy. If this kind of thing is not your thing, please feel free to pass on this week. If you choose to read, please know that this is one of the rawest and most vulnerable pieces I’ll ever write. I also cried while writing it out. Thank you for reading.

Dear Sarah:

I’ve debated writing something like this for a long time. You’ve been gone since February 13th, 2006. You’ve almost been gone for 15 years. They say that time heals all wounds. I disagree. Yes, it’s easier to get out of bed every day than it was in the beginning. Yes I have continued to live my life. That doesn’t change the fact that my heart still yearns for you.

The last time I saw you was December of 2005. You had been allowed to come home to see us before going back. I wish I knew then that I would never have seen you again. That I would wake up the day before Valentine’s Day to find out that you were gone. To say that my world shattered is an understatement. To be honest, I don’t think it’s ever been really whole since.

You were my little sister. You were just 14 years old! You barely lived. You barely experienced life. I’m so bitter to the fact that now that you’re gone, autism is being taken more seriously. They aren’t just placing children with autism in mental hospitals and forgetting them. Life would be so much brighter had we had the resources then that we do now.

Writing this note has reopened the wound. I suppose I couldn’t help that. I may not ever get over your death, but one day I’d like to gain full closure. I’d also like to not feel shame over still being heartbroken over your death after all this time.

I love you. You were one of the best pieces of my life. When I lost you, I lost my purpose for a long time. Sometimes I wonder if I ever got most of it back. I will keep fighting this fight. Mostly for myself, but also for you. I will live the life you were robbed of. I will see you again. Until then, keep the piece of my heart you took with you safe. And please look after all of us. Especially mom.

Love,

RIP: Sarah Elizabeth Crider April 23rd, 1991-February 13th, 2006