Dear John.
Well here we are
again. Its 9 years later and I don't know what to say or what to do but
I'm back here at the cemetery. Just like I (try to) do every June 2nd.
I usually come here only
once a year. There doesn't seem to be much purpose otherwise. I mean it's not
like you're really here. You're just here but not. That makes no sense, but
then none of this really does. Which is why I am rambling on in this
"letter," which is really just my random thoughts for today
It's June 2nd again and
I never know what to do on June 2nd. I never know what to say. I
never know who to say it to. I'm at a loss (ha).
As always I called Mom
and Dad in the morning. I have to call mom and dad every morning.
After all you're not going to be calling Mom and Dad. (Did you ever
consistently call them? Am I trying to guilt the dead or just make myself
feel better? You know the answer is the later and I'm just going to run
with that.) You left that in my lap and let me tell you I'm a little
pissed off that I have to deal with everything all on my own.
To be honest, it was
always going to be me who handled the family issues. I'm the daughter and
it was bestowed on me. I could say I had no say in that, but that would
be a lie too. But since you’re not here I really have
to deal with it on my own and let me tell you it's not fun. Our parents
are getting older and they have health issues. (Heck, I am getting older
and I'm certainly not the person that I was nine years ago)
Anyway I called Mom and
Dad and I didn't say anything about the date because I never know if I should
say anything. Do I remind them? Do I not? What's the right
thing to do?
The answer is there is
no right thing to do. I just let it be. I just did my average
morning chat. (To be honest, my usual bs) I actually talked to them as I
was on my way down to the cemetery and I didn't say anything about that.
I went down and I have
to say the area looked really nice. (We can thank our awesome cousin Meg
for that. She's "inherited" that responsibility somehow.
It can't be fun and I have to say that I am grateful that she took over the
task so that I don't have to. How's that for selfish?) However,
it's just a place and I don't feel like you (or any of our other relatives) are
really there. I have never felt compelled to go there just to talk to
you. If I want to talk to you (how crazy am I sounding now?) I talk to
you in my head. (I always seem to have a lot to say when I'm out before
dawn.) I do this a lot around this time of year.
Which brings me to my
next point. (I have a point?) I do miss you a lot and it
irritates me that it's been 9 years and that time is passing and things are
fading in my mind. (I'm getting old.) I have more memories of THIS day
and not August 25th which is quite upsetting It makes sense since I was
an adult when you died and just 6 when you were born, but still...My memories
of late summer and the autumn of 1972 are so faint, while I can recall exact
moments of this day nine years ago. Precise and painful moments; those
are the ones that don't seem to fade away.
Keeping the focus on me, I
also want to say that I still am annoyed that you totally ruined my birthday for
me. Not just in 2012, but pretty much every year. Now when June
comes around I'm not looking forward to my birthday or Dad's birthday but
instead I'm focused on this day. You really had a lot of nerve dying 5 days
before my birthday. It really sucks! Ok, death anytime sucks but I wish
you hadn't died in June. You know I wish you hadn't died at all but I really
wish you hadn't done summer because it's the best time of the year. Now
it starts off crappy because you died. I really wish you hadn't done in the
summer. It was OUR time of year. It was YOUR time of year.
Forget Thanksgiving or Christmas, it has always been about summer. It was
about the beach and crabbing off the dock. (Which my son loves to do too,
but he's more about just catching them; whereas you were all about catching
them and eating them.) You should be here. You SHOULD be years.
But here were are nine
years later, I’m about to turn 55 (which I sure the heck don't want to
admit) and you will remain forever 39.
I don’t know what else
to say. I’ve run out of rambles.
I miss you.
Beth
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