Dear God

Dear God,

People ask me why I am angry at you.  They assume that I have left frumkeit because I must be angry with you.

I'm not.

I am so filled with anger and hate towards people though.  I hate your creations.  I hate people.  I hate everyone.

I am not angry with you, except for one thing.  You took my Boat from me.  The one person who understood a little of what I was going through.

Scott said that he didn't want to leave, but that it was just his time to go.  I asked him, was that really Boat under that mound of dirt.  He said no, that Boat had already left... but seeing his name by the grave, was so odd.  And, it's even stranger not seeing him outside.  You took from me everything else.  I have nothing left.  My friends, family, house, job, and even my health.  All gone.  For that, I'm not angry.  But for my Boat?  A barnacle will die without its boat.  So where do I go from here?

I feel so alone, as though drifting.  I have no idea what to do next?  Betrayal does not seem to come close to the emotions I feel.  The little girl is angry because her beloved cats will not come with us when we move.  I am sad because I had to hurt the little ones again.  I don't know what, or where, or when the next sad move will take place.  What else will these children have to lose?

Will it be me?  The mini stroke was a sign.  I know.  But I don't know when my own death will come, though I am sure it will be sooner rather than later.  I should be preparing, though I don't even know where to begin.  So, I continue to move on.

The goal was to live to see forty.  Will I make that goal?  Boat had promised me another 28 years.  He could never have known that was not going to happen.  I guess none of us do.

Dear Boat

Dear Boat,
It's very strange.. writing to you, knowing that you aren't going to read this.
I went to your grave yesterday to say goodbye.  I got halfway to the site before I started to break down. Seeing that mound of dirt, and knowing that your body was underneath it.. I couldn't take it.  I put the rocks at your head.. and then sat down at your feet and started talking. 

But it wasn't the same.  You weren't THERE.  It didn't feel the same, you weren't there to shake your head at me, when I told you I wanted to give up, and that I just didn't feel right being there...I kept waiting for someone to come kick me out and tell me that I didn't belong there.

I had a mini-stroke on Friday night.  In all our conversations, we were never sure which one of us was going to go first.  You won that argument... I'm not so sure that I am too far behind.  It's a very scary thought.

I wonder if or when I go, where I am going to go.  I feel as though I have experienced my hell here on earth, but that does not mean I am not going to be required to go through hell again.  Where are you?  Is it terrible?  How come you haven't stopped in to visit?

I was so angry at you when you died.  I know that it wasn't your choice, but I wish I could have said good bye, and I am so frustrated that I did not get that option.

I miss you.