what to do with those sad gone thoughts: write

longing for those who are gone

JANUARY 28, twelve years ago today, was the day Rebecca decided would be her last. And I’m missing her, my longtime and loving friend.

A few years back, I wrote this. This morning, while thinking about what day it is, I read it again, grateful to have written about and to her.

I want to write more, here, but am getting stuck on loss, longing to talk to those who are gone.

I’M BACK. Took a break. Went for a walk. Grabbed some lunch. Then dug through a box of old photos. Thinking I’d figure out what to write/say once I saw the memories of our young, happy faces.

finally, an idea.

WRITE to her.

When I’m journaling, sometimes my rambling turns into dialogue, a back and forth with myself, or, someone who’s no longer here that I wish was here.

I didn’t think about that earlier this morning. Too busy journaling about sorrow and suffering, and wondering what to do with my sad gone thoughts.

The two of us in San Diego, circa 1989. On the left, Rebecca (December 24, 1964 – January 28, 2013).

to my friend

Beck,

I’ve been thinking about you today, though I think of you often.

I’m still following your advice: “You won’t always feel this sad,” you used to tell me. I wish, when I’d said that to you, that you believed it.

Do you remember how we both knew we had to be friends—would be friends—from the moment we met. Sure you do. Your memory, your mind, your wit, was always sharper than mine.

When I was slow to grasp something, when I didn’t get it—a punchline, the meaning of a word, or something everyone in the world knew but me—you’d laugh and tell me, “You are the slowest, smart person I’ve ever met!” You thought I was smart! You believed in me, saw more potential in me than I ever could.

I miss talking with you. I miss your insight, your intelligence, your curiosity, your funniness, your friendship. I miss you.

I hope your wicked sense of humor is still in tact. I hope you know that I’ll always remember…

I hope “The gray drizzle of horror” is gone and you see in color now.

And I hope you’re at peace.

Love you,

D


Hamming it up in San Diego, circa 1989.

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1 Comment

  1. merles1212's avatar merles1212 says:

    Dee, this piece struck me today. I have a dear friend who is struggling with kidney cancer, and I’m afraid she won’t make it through treatment. Besides her, I have several friends who are quite ill with cancer and other tough stuff. I was thinking earlier today how I have lost four of my closest friends over a period of years and how much I miss them. I’m lucky to have many friends who are important to me, but each loss leaves its hole in my heart. I know you understand more than most. Your piece was beautiful and, hopefully, was helpful to write.

    Hugs, Merle

    >

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