Empty Needles

My sister finally went into Detox this weekend. There's a part of me that's waiting for the ploy; last time she checked herself in to make money selling klonopin. I really...don't know how to grieve something like that. I'm angry at the sound of her name; Shanna. In her last prison photo I hardly recognized her; someone else's eyes glaring into opposite corners, looking every direction but straight ahead of her. I wonder how my ma can stay rational enough to raise my sister's kids. Shanna's daughter Haley is more and more like my sister everyday, and that scares us to tears.

I look at my niece and nephew, I miss their view of the world...everything's so close, so sensitive. It's all about them and what they need, but that's okay; they're young. Then I see that my sister's view of the world never grew from that, never changed; and she's paying for it.

My mother told me recently that I am grieving. I said..."how can I grieve someone who hasn't died?"

She smiled and said, "I'm still trying to figure that out myself."

So tonight I'm wondering. What do I do with that?

I refresh my MFA blogs, take stock of my latest rejections. I cruise over Pitt's tuition rates and feel my wallet grow even thinner against my chair. And when I'm alone like this...when to my own dismay I have nothing else to do; I start to write. That's how I justify my grieving. I take my heavy heart and let it gain weight elsewhere. But tonight, following the fresh death of my aunt, I can't help but wonder...is that healthy? Is it okay to strain my efforts into something I can manage?

If I asked my mother that question...I know what she would say. "I'm still trying to figure that out myself." And that would be enough.