How do you say goodbye

I’m ashamed to say that I’ve let the weeds grow around Mary’s willow tree. So today I went down and raked the weeds away and put big rocks around the base, dusted off the stones people put there in her honor, and just sat down and cried. I am so tired of smiling at people, doing all the chores like nothing has happened, shopping, cooking dinner, laughing at a funny story like I’m interested, etc. It’s just not fun or interesting, there’s no motivation. I miss her so much it hurts all the time. Everybody’s life seems to be going on like they don’t realize she’s gone. I know everybody’s different and the rest of the world didn’t know her like I do, and my grief is more intense but sometimes I want to scream at people, “DO YOU ALL HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THE WORLD HAS LOST?” Will anyone but our family and her really best friends remember her in 10 years? In 20 years? In 50? Will she be just another “Uh-oh” in the annals of drunk driving events?

Does is sound like I’m feeling sorry for myself? Well, I am. I’m sorry Mary’s gone, sorry she won’t have a life with Tony and Tony will have a life without her. Sorry I won’t see the children she was going to have so they could play with Julie’s kids. Sorry I don’t have her around to bounce ideas off of, share stories with, trade recipes with, go on hikes with, and mostly right now…. get ready for her wedding with her.

Mary could have been the muse who helped her friend find a cure for cancer. She could have turned into a famous cook like Rachael Ray or Julia Child. She could have taken her handmade business she was starting and made millions of dollars. She could have done ANYTHING and now she can do nothing. Yes, sure, I can do it for her. But it’s not the same. It’s just not the same.

I hate that man so much I can taste it.



How do
you say
good by
to your destiny?

How do
you say
farewell
to your dreams?

Where do
you go
to get
your tomorrows?

Where do
you go
to start
a new spring?

How do you escape the memories that haunt you?
Where is the ladder to climb out of this abyss?
When will you reach the summit of acceptance?
Time, eternal healer, is that which you resist.