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Friday, March 17, 2006

On the Eve of the Funeral....

I went shopping for something to wear. I almost called you for fashion advice, forgetting that there would be no answer, never again would you answer.
What else should I have done? If I had stayed at the funeral parlor, I would have lost my mind. I would have made a spectacle of myself and there were already enough people taking on this role. I am not one to lose control, to lose logic, but that whole day, throughout the viewing, having to see you lay there, your body, and try to keep it together.. it was impossible inside.
I went numb.

On the eve of the funeral, people streamed passed me, passed your mother and father and brother and sister. They tried to be strong for them.
I sat in a pew most of the day, fearing that if I moved I’d fall to pieces.
I sat with Shane and smoked and was angry that there were people here who wanted attention, this attention for themselves.
We all but growled with the media showed up in their bright yellow vans, vulture-ing over us, looking for someone to interview.

On the eve of the funeral, I went home to quiet, to my bed, to try and process.
My new outfit in the closet. I thought about the last time we talked, the last time we spent the day together, the last time I asked you for advice, the last thing you had asked I impart my wisdom for.
I thought about the fact that you wouldn’t get to go to the school you wanted, have the wedding we had planned since we were little, that we wouldn’t ever go for long drives in my old car smoking joints and laughing until we cried.
I missed you, but still could not accept this as being reality.

On the eve of your funeral, I buried my feelings and fears and panic and devastation so that I would be able to be there when they buried you.
My best friend gone.

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