Things seem to be more real once actions/feelings and moments are placed into the written word. A daydream is nothing more than a passing few moments of joy or sorrow, not truly a reality.
Writing has always been my therapy, a way to neatly tuck and store anything and everything in my life so that it can be cataloged into its proper place. I have tried several times to write this post, and each time, I have slammed the laptop closed and stomped my foot and headed for a glass of wine.
My cousin Richie passed suddenly on January the 7th. He was a fabulous person and saying that he will be missed in an understatement. A Son, Brother, Father and soon to be Grandfather, he has left a very large ache in the hearts of his family and friends.
For the second time in 10 months, I watched parents bury their child. It is so against how the natural order of things should be, that I wanted to scream, throw-up, yell at God, and curl up in a ball.
There is a circle in my family comprised of myself and my cousins that remember the small town where we all come from, life with our grandparents, summers up north, winters in the snow. I was the baby and they were the cool kids I pestered to drag me along where ever they went. We are one short now and stunned.
I could look at Richie and say ” I really miss them” and he knew what I meant, he knew my pain. His idea of home and mine were pretty much the same “Up North”.
I smile when I think he is with our grandparents now. In my head and heart he just got back Up-North before the rest of us. My Grandmother opened the door and Grandpa handed him a beer…
Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.
I am ready to meet my maker, but whether my maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.
For the record, death sucks arse. It isn’t fair.
We all miss you Richie.
July 27, 1967-January 7, 2009