A friend recently consoled me with her belief that the deceased live on in their loved ones. You’d think that was a crock of sh*t. But, she encouraged me to talk to you, “she won’t answer your questions, but you probably know what her response would be.” I think that might be a crock of sh*t too. I’ve realized people speak of improbable desires as fact to cope with tragedy. But one lie leads to another, and as their lies multiply so do their problems because they haven’t actually coped with any of them. After you died I constantly heard “she’s in a better place now.” “How do you know that” I barked back. You were the ice queen; perhaps you froze over before heaven.
But, this week I’ve been especially missing you. I miss the girl who hosed down my classmate because she was annoying you. I miss the person who showed me this great, big, beautiful world. I miss the girl who baa’d at ‘conformist sheep’ that didn’t think for themselves. I miss the opinion you ejected as fact. I miss the girl who taught me to walk with confidence. I don’t want to talk out loud to myself; I want you to answer me.
I’m growing up now and out of your shadow. I’m starting to believe in God – you’d be so ashamed. But, I’m doing this all alone, and I am mad at you for it. 20 years ago when I said I wanted to live forever and you said you wanted to die young, I never committed to living without you. I want you to apologize for leaving me here. I want you to carry some of the weight of our parents growing old alone, companionless, and in different parts of the country. I want you to make me an aunt so I can spoil your children with sugar and unnecessary gifts. I want you to tell me I’m being selfish. I want you to tell me you’re living on in me.
PS – I’d settle for just a sign.