~“How are you?”  She asks.


“Okay,” I say.


“I’m waiting for the day you shout out Fantastic,” she smiles.


I shake my head.
That’s all.


What else can I do?


I mean, how would she know?
How could she possibly know…


that I think about Kay
Every.  Waking.   Moment.


I ponder if I should explain, enlighten, tell her my sad sad


Tell her I’m just surviving, breathing, living.   That’s all.


Because this is what one does after a murder in the family.


I want to tell her that some days I lay in bed wondering how
things might have been different if only I’d known, been pro-active, did
something about the son-of-a-bitch.


Did something.


Did  S O M E T H I  N G.


For example…


I should have broken every fucking finger on each hand so he
couldn’t pick up a gun.


I should have taped his mouth with duct tape so he couldn’t
utter her  name.


I want to tell her how I question my existence more times
than not.


Why was I left behind to pick up the pieces?


I’ll never be able to pick up all of the pieces.


How can the heart continue beating?


How can the body continue to walk thru darkness?


It hurts.


And I fucking hate hurting.


Perhaps she should know I visit the cemetery on Saturdays now
instead of going to Barnes & Noble with my sister for triple chocolate peanut butter pie.


Perhaps she should  know
I’ll never be Fantastic.  Not really.

But I simply smile.


What else can I do?


“Tell me all about your weekend.”  I say.

Dear, Reader,  is
there a time you should have been pro-active, but you were not?

My sister and soul-mate was murdered by Mike Peterson 590 days ago …  My Life Shattered,  & I still can’t pick up all of the pieces.

800-799-SAFE (7233) or at TTY 1-800-787-3224.


In Memory of Kay

CLick Here NOW if you are being physically abused, verbally abused,

emotionally abused, belittled, diminished, finacially abused,

sexually abused, or  minimized in any way…>>pink lips A Safety Plan to Get Out Today