Inside, I’m numb.
No matter telling them though. Mom wasn’t at all thrilled when I argued that I didn’t need counseling, that I was able to handle the death of Dean.
Over the years, I learned how to cry silently, how to write out thoughts (as I am here), how to never mention Dean (unless I wanted some sort of mini-therapy session from Mom), and how to act like I never even had a brother in the first place.
I have learned not only how to pretend this all didn’t happen, but how to pretend so well, that I’ve lost my true joy.