The hallways here were reminiscent of those at the hospital where Michelle had received her care, so she told. The imagined similarities struck a painful chord within me, the déjà vu of sorrow. But amidst the clinical environment, a dark hallway led me to a sculpture. It was of thoughtful form, shaped by hands that clearly understood grief. The piece stood as a silent testament to loss and resilience.
In front of this sculpture, I found an unexpected sense of calm. The hands that had created it seemed to hold my sorrow, allowing me to feel less alone in my grief. A wave of peace washed over me, mingled with sadness. I began to cry, a light smile forming on my lips as memories of Michelle's bravery filled my heart. I couldn't tell which came first, the tears or the smile.
My sister had been so brave. Her strength and spirit lingered in my mind, a constant reminder of the transient nature of life. Michelle, I miss you every day. Life moves so quickly, in the blink of an eye, it changes. As I stood there, in a place that was not so much the place she walked, but it would have felt so similar, I felt her presence. I whispered to myself, "I'll see you soon," feeling the bittersweet blend of loss and love.
Leaving the sculpture behind, I continued my search for the biorepository. The sadness was still there, but it was softer now, tinged with the calm that had washed over me. I realized that even in places I would rather not be, I could find moments of peace and connection. Michelle's memory was with me, guiding me through the cold hallways, reminding me that I was not alone.
I miss you sister!!
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