The sun backlit the stray curls that had let loose from your neatly styled hair. Sandy blonde and mischievious that hair was. I would learn that you had to work hard to get it to submit to your tending.
There were no empty seats , and you were sitting alone.
I already hated this place, Amsdell Junior High School. Kids had warned me that it was better known as "the zoo".
This bus was a zoo also. A cacaphony of rebellious voices yelling out the windows, across the seats.
I was frightened and alone.
You looked safe, so I sat next to you.
We became best friends.
September 2, 2005
You said, "I don't want to hold you back."
I placed my hand one last time on your beautiful face. Your wide eyes awake, that big smile that left a crinkle in the corners.
I kissed your forehead.
I knew you were ready to die.
I said, "And I won't hold you back any longer. I know where you're going and it's beautiful there... so very beautiful."
You nodded your head quietly, "I will see you again. So long."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
I turned and dashed out of the room, into the hall under the watchful eyes of others there to wish you safe journey. I swallowed a sob and blindly found my way to the chapel.
"God, can You hear me?" I whispered to the vaulted ceiling above.
"Can You really hear me?"
I knew God was listening so the crying started as I held myself rocking with the pain.
Something inside my heart was cut away, amputated.
I cried like I never would stop.
Today, September 2, 2006
I have grieved for Ellen like I have grieved for no other.
A part of me did die with Ellen that day.
One year has passed and this has been the first full year of my life when I have realized with Ellen gone, I have surrendered my youth.
It hasn't been a middle age crisis sort of thing, no angst involved.
Just this quiet knowing that my girlhood is gone now and it is time for me to grow up for real.
I think Ellen would have approved.
What I find amusing is that as I have been letting go of the childish ways, I feel lighter, and much, much happier.
Instead of running away from aging... I feel liberated.
I am running towards aging with open arms and a light heart.
Ellen taught me so much in life.
And she taught me so much more in her dying.
She chose how she would die.
Not the cancer, but she certainly chose how she would traverse the final period of her short life.
I have drunk deeply from the well of the lessons she gave me.
I hope I prove to be a worthy student.
I dream of her frequently.
At first the dreams were so disturbing. She would be sick and frail and dying over and over again in my dreams.
And then there was a turning point, she was coming to me in the dreams at her physical best, robust and joyous. Still mischievously witty, but there was a deep compassion in these dreams, a connection between us that we had trouble obtaining in life.
And recently over the past few weeks more dreams of her, and this time she is beautiful and so peaceful. There is a light about her and she is letting me know a few things that I must need to know.
And I am always happy to see her in these dreams, but I am okay now about letting her go.
I don't wake up in tears with that awful empty pit of grief.
I feel happiness for her, and joy knowing that when I am done here in this life, we can see each other again.
That said, I still want to pick up the phone and call her every time something exciting happens around here. I keep visiting her blog wanting to see one more entry about her adventures... just one more.
And whenever I go where we went together, of course I think of her...
but the first year of grieving is ended.
Time to move forward.
Time to let go.
Time to be willing to risk letting friends in.
Time to be willing to have joy and sorrow.
Time to be willing to trust.
Time to accept that life is short and offers no guarantees.
Time to move on.
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