Just last week you told me you were feeling
lonely. You said it was nothing, that it was stupid, that you were afraid to
tell me because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings, but that somehow you knew I
would get it. We had a good talk about it, we hugged it out, I assured you I would
never leave you alone and you assured me you knew that. It was good, we were
good, but all week I had you in my mind… all week I had these thoughts in my
head about how some things can never be what they were. I thought about how life
and work steals time away from the people we care about. How we can never go
back to spend 8 hours a day with our best friend in the playground, no matter how
much we’d love to. How no matter how hard we try we can’t prevent people from
hurting… and then tragedy strikes… and
what was just a nostalgic feeling for times we can’t relive transforms in an
absolute feel of impotence. All of the sudden 30km feel like an ocean away, a
couple of hours feel like an eternity and I feel so small, because I’ve been
there, and I know there’s nothing one can say or do that will take the pain
away. And it kills me. I know this isn’t about me, but it kills me to know
there’s nothing I can do, it kills me hearing you cry and have no voice,
because all the comfort words I can utter feel shallow and vain. In moments
like these I wish I was one of those people who always know just what to say, I
wish I was positive, I wish I was strong, I wish I could give you the peace of
mind that deep inside I know only comes with time. But I have nothing, nothing
to offer but hug and a promise of always trying to be there, because truth is I
still don’t get it. I don’t get death. It’s been 10 years for me, and in a lot
of ways it might seem that I’ve coped with it, but I’m not sure I have. I pushed
through like we all do, but there’s so much about that day that feels
unresolved. So much pain, so much guilt… So I have nothing, nothing to offer
but hug and a promise of always trying to be there.
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