It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you and everyone’s coming up on a second Christmas without you. I know I haven’t been around lately…it’s been kinda hectic. Christmas is in three days. I owe you some flowers, don’t I?
There’s some new people coming around and some old ones that haven’t been around who are coming back too. I’ve gotten myself into a few dilemmas lately — the kind that I wish I had your help on. You know, the kind where you’d joke around and then suddenly get all serious for a few minutes and say the exact thing that needed to be said, even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
There’s a few other things going on lately — I’m seeing a doctor in January to find out what’s really going on. The bruising, fatigue, chills, aches, nausea, night sweats…so gross, I know.
Sometimes I wonder what it is you’re doing. I know alot of us wonder that, but…I wonder if everything they talk about is real. Are you really where they say you are? Does it actually exist? And…a little more selfishly…why’d you get to go and I didn’t? Okay, yeah, that was actually really selfish. But I wonder why. You know, I never really said this, but I’m really kind of mad that you left. Or had to leave. Whatever. The point is, you left, even though it wasn’t your fault. I’m mad at you for leaving just as much as I’m mad at Jennifer for leaving, and I’m mad at whatever it was that made both of you go.
I’m pissed off at whoever was driving that truck that hit her and I’m pissed off at the tree that you hit. Really, how completely irrational is that? I’m mad at a tree. You have no idea how many times I’ve seriously considered driving back to Kingwood and chopping that damn tree down. And I’m sure that some people, at least subconsciously, are mad about Kate. I didn’t really know her, but you know what? I’m mad about Kate, too. But, shhh…it’s a secret. It’s one of those things that people aren’t supposed to say that they feel. Know what that means? I’m mad at quite a few people over the past year. You and Kate, Jennifer, Al, Kerry, David…even little Iona Grace. Yeah, I’m mad at Iona, too…and that’s something that’s absolutely ridiculous. It doesn’t even make sense.
Today, I was thinking about all of you and how we won’t get to see you for a very, very long time, if ever at all. And you know what else doesn’t make sense? Even though all of you died in ways that I certainly wouldn’t want for myself, you were the lucky ones. You’re the ones that are somewhere else, somewhere far, far away from everything here. You’re not the ones who had to stick around and clean up all of the messes. You just made them while you were leaving. I’m not supposed to say that, either. You didn’t have to keep Iona’s secret, you didn’t have to sit through all of the funerals and wish that you’d gone to Jumps with Kerry more, or that you’d introduced Jennifer to your family.
If you saw all of that, did you feel as helpless as everyone here did? But, it’s okay if you didn’t. Even though I’m mad at all of you, for no logical reason at all, I’m happy that you didn’t have to sit through the funerals, smile at people afterwards, shake hands and hug people that you really didn’t want to hug. So, it’s okay. I’m happy for all of you, even though it might be difficult to tell. Us, the ones that didn’t get to go, we’re the unlucky ones. But luck changes. We’ll all get our chances to see you again, when the time’s right, and, you know, if wherever you are really exists. I hope it does. Yeah…really, I do.
There’s something really, really sick about all of it. You’re here, and then you’re gone. You’re growing up, you’ve got a boyfriend, friends, family, people depending on you — and then you just disappear. There’s a crash, failed CPR, glass and debris, midnight candlelights, caskets, flowers, and a butterfly funeral. There’s goodbyes and tears, people who turn out okay and people who turn out angry. But it’s nobody’s fault, I know. I miss you guys, alot. I know that none of this makes much sense at all, but I figured I might as well tell you while I’m thinking about it.
I love you, kid.