I really, truly can’t.
I lost a dear friend yesterday.
Seventeen sets of parents lost their children yesterday. So far.
Two of my “wid friends” have daughters in that high school.
Fortunately, they’re ok.
All it seems that I can do is cry.
The waves are back.
I have not missed them.
I had just talked to my friend.
Her birthday was Friday.
She was fine.
Or so we thought.
Some of my widowed friends will remember her.
She wasn’t widowed but she loved me so much that she volunteered at a Camp Widow just to see what this thing was that I love so much.
She was quick to laugh and even quicker to love.
She would’ve done anything for me.
I can’t believe that I’ll never hear that laugh again.
Or feel that love.
Her funeral will be this Sunday.
I don’t know if I can go.
I’ve told Daughter #2 that I’d watch the kids this weekend.
I know that I can get out of that.
But I’m not sure that I want to.
The thought of going to that service just brings the ugly cry.
The kind of cry that happened yesterday between flights at DFW in a chapel.
For an hour.
Thank God that that airport has chapels.
I feel bad about not wanting to go.
I feel guilty.
I feel weak.
And I feel panic.
I know I should go.
I know I should see her husband and sons.
And the beautiful little grand daughter who she loved beyond reason.
I haven’t felt this depth of sorrow in a long time.
I haven’t felt this incapacitated.