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.
