literature

Shattered (11/25/11)

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    It was almost two years ago that my uncle died, and it has been one of the worst memories I’ve ever had. 

I remember my mom telling me, her surprising calm exterior as she was probably dying inside. She left me be, myself and I, completely alone on the third floor go my grandmothers house.

The day after Thanksgiving. All good people die the day after a holiday.

I remember my heart shattering in my chest, slowly falling apart to crash to the stairs leading up onto the Top Deck. I still feel my lungs close up as the memory starts to take over.

I clutched at my chest, trying to rip my rapidly pounding heart out of my trembling body. I was gasping for breath that wouldn’t come. 

I’d hugged him goodbye, thinking that I’d see him later that day.

Now I’ll never see him again.

Hours of my own personal hell flash by with the rapidly ticking seconds. I’ve cried my soul out in 43 minutes. 

I don’t speak. I just walk down the stairs, calmly confronting my sobbing grandmother, and pretend that nothing happened.

I remember my subconscious thoughts, my silent pleads to be with the one who knew me best; to be with the one who was more of a father then my actual dad was and still is. I wanted to die, to have everything just be over.

I haven’t entirely felt that horrid since that day, not consciously at least. I’ve thought about it, to be with the one I miss the most, each day for the past two years, 

I’ll always miss him, and I’ll always love him-

Forever and Always.


  • Written on 10/27/11
  • Typed out on The Anniversary (11/25/11)
R.I.P Allen Ollivier
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