Day 2 (Two Years Ago)

Two years ago today I was sitting on my sister's sofa, sharing a scotch with her grieving boyfriend. She had committed suicide on the day before Christmas and he had discovered her body on New Year's Day. I remember wishing he would go away and leave me to my own grief. I did not have it in me to comfort any one else at that moment. I had lost too much. I hurt too much. It was, it seemed, all about me.
In looking back on it, I think I was unfair to this poor man who had done nothing more than be unfortunate enough to fall in love with my sister, and care enough to go looking for her when she did not emerge from her apartment for several days.
I think about him every once in awhile...does he still live in that apartment beneath hers? Could he stay there after what she'd done. Does he ever look up the stairs that led to her door and recall how he'd climbed them and unlocked her door and opened it, not knowing, but knowing that she had done something so unspeakable?
Does someone else live there now? Does he visit them? Can he walk into those rooms without remembering her the way he found her? Has he healed? Can he love someone else and trust that they won't hurt him too?
I think about him at this time of year, and in the spring when her garden will be starting to show signs of life...does he still tend it like he did with her? I think about the look of anguish on his face when he talked about finding her body...I think about how I could have let him cry and listened to him talk for just a little longer, I could have held his hand when he reached it out to me on that couch...but I didn't. I didn't, and I am sorry for that.