So here I am, Sandy, sitting in the grass by your memorial. This is the day you were admitted to hospice a few years back – the day before you died. Today, I brought you a white rose with a note for you to read from wherever you are. I hope you know I’m here – I sense you all around me either way. The mallards are swimming around the pond, and one female appears to have only one baby. Their reflection in the water is so serene. Do they sense pain with the loss of a chick, I wonder? My tears keep falling . . . I wish we had had more time . . . I couldn’t stop those grains of sand in the hourglass of your life.
I am so glad you are now with our sister Vic, but damn, I want you both here with me. I want justice and compassion from the Universal Planner. How could Vic die in February, you die in July? How can that be fair in any way, shape, or form? There are still moments when I feel so very alone – like a lighthouse feels when its light burns out.
That one mallard mama waddled up with its chick. They are standing in the grass about 5 feet away – so very cute! You and I loved to fish and watch the waterfowl, and we always got more fish than the guys did. Oh, the chick suddenly just went out into the water and is slowly swimming around “peeping.”
Just like me – swimming around all alone. The chick is trying to find its mom, and I’m trying to find my two sisters.