In a couple of days, it will be the three year anniversary of a really rough period of time.

August 7, 2011 - my cousin was murdered in a shooting. She was 16. She was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. She had no connection to the shooter, other than he was her friend's neighbor. Her friend (also 16), her friend's father and grandparents, her friend's neighbor's brother and nephew (10) were also killed. The shooter was killed by police coming out of the house that the neighbor's nephew was murdered in. In a way, it was as though justice was dealt with swiftly, because he was killed by police for shooting at them, and after murdering seven people (and injuring one). But on the flip side, there are SO many questions that will never be answered because he's dead... and those questions never seem to go away, and every time something reminds me of my cousin, it just brings it all back up.

August 8, 2011 - my Great-Grandma passed away. She was almost 101. I don't understand why this doesn't seem to "bother" me as much (I don't think that "bother" is the right word, but I can't think of a better word). The most logical way that it's been explained to me is that because she was old and lived a long, full life, it was easier to "let go". Which I guess makes sense. It was also pointed out that I was probably more still in shock and dealing with my cousin's murder from the day before. But I feel as though I'm dishonoring my Great-Grandma, or... something... by not being as effected by her passing away...

About a week later, my Grandpa went into the hospital. He was in a coma for a month and a half. He turned 79 in a coma, in the ICU at the hospital. And then he passed away on September 27, 2011. And I can't seem to stop blaming myself for him dying - despite being told countless times that there was nothing I could have possibly done. Over Labor Day Weekend, I went with my mom to visit him in the hospital. My mom had been giving me updates over the phone up until then (I was away at college), and she said that he was mostly unresponsive, and it didn't seem like he knew you were there. Except for one specific thing, one person, that he would respond to - either by his eyelids flickering, or his heartbeat picking up, etc. My mom said that the only time they got any sort of response from him was when she talked to him about me, or about how involved in music I still was.
She made it sound like if I talked to him, he might wake up. And when I went to visit him with her, I couldn't even go near him. He had stopped looking like my Grandpa (he was very skinny and sunken in, when he used to be pretty large and full). But I can't seem to stop thinking that maybe, just maybe, if I hadn't been such a coward, if I had talked to him, then maybe he would have woken up, maybe things would have been different.

I don't know how to get past, move on, accept any of this. But it's near the anniversary of all of it again. It's hard to believe it's been three years - I can still recall every detail of each situation... every detail of Sunday, August 7, 2011 - where I was, what I was doing all day, what I was doing when I found out about the shooting, what I was doing when I found out my cousin was murdered, everything. I can still recall every detail about that entire week in general - funerals or wakes every day for a week, followed by the most embarrassing Torah reading I've ever done... every detail. It's like it's all just engraved in my head, and I can't get it to go away. But I also can't figure out how to not be triggered when the anniversary of all of this comes around, or when something reminds me of any of this.

Sorry this is so long. Thanks for any advice.

~Chaos