I Would Be A Better Person If You Were Still Alive
If you were still alive, I wouldn't be as skeptical, as pessimistic. I wouldn't push people away as soon as they got close out of fear of being abandoned.
If you were still alive, I wouldn’t have had a breakdown the day I got the phone call. I wouldn’t have known what it felt like to pace the room, pushing back tears and shaking my head, telling myself it wasn’t real, there must have been a mistake, which hospital called? Are they sure? Are they positive?
If you were still alive, I wouldn’t have these horrible memories rattling through my head. I wouldn’t have the image of my family breaking down in tears burned into my brain. I wouldn’t know what it sounded like to hear my father sob or to see my mother’s cheeks freckled with red.
If you were still alive, I wouldn’t have reminders of your death scattered around my room. I wouldn’t have your prayer card tucked inside of my wallet. I wouldn’t have so many photos displayed on my wall, the same photos that were tacked to a cork board the day of your wake.
If you were still alive, I would have spent money on your birthday present instead of on a floral arrangement. If you were still alive, I would have introduced you to my new boyfriend instead of describing you to him. If you were still alive, I would be able to say your name without the risk of tears falling.
If you were still alive, I would be a much better person.
If you were still alive, I wouldn’t have done so much stupid shit to find closure. I wouldn’t have spent so much money on alcohol to push you out of my mind. I wouldn’t have taken my anger out on people who didn’t deserve it. I wouldn’t have screamed and screeched and sobbed.
If you were still alive, I wouldn’t be as skeptical, as pessimistic. I wouldn’t push people away as soon as they got close out of fear of being abandoned.
If you were still alive, I wouldn’t question my religion as much as I do now. I wouldn’t fear death. I wouldn’t wonder what comes after. I wouldn’t question if there is even a point to all this, if my life is ultimately meaningless.
If you were still alive, I wouldn’t be so mad at the world. I wouldn’t think of it as an unfair, unforgivable place. I wouldn’t hate everything and everyone as much as I do right now.
If you were still alive, I wouldn’t expect the worst in every situation. I wouldn’t assume that pain would follow me wherever I went. I wouldn’t have such an unhealthy, negative mindset.
If you were still alive, I wouldn’t feel so alone. I wouldn’t claim that no one cares about me. I wouldn’t assume that no one else could possibly understand what I’ve been through.
Of course, if you were still alive, you would tell me that I’m wrong about all of this. That I’m not a bad person. That your death has helped me grow. That it has shaped me into a stronger, well-rounded person. A person that you’re proud to call family. A person that you love and miss and wish would stop being so fucking hard on herself. 
