Tomorrow marks ten years since the car accident death of my little cousin Evan at age 23. Evan was born in 1993, right after my parents and I moved to Arizona from Chicago.
This week has been riddled with intrusive thoughts about the Large Marge scene in PeeWee’s Big Adventure and wondering how his immediate family is. We don’t talk much anymore. I was very close with Evan’s mother who died of cancer in 2021.
That’s it. I don’t want to do much tomorrow, not even light a candle.
2016 was the height of my disabling panic attacks, and I used to think Evan was the lucky one. I do not think that anymore.
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