I have The Police in my head. I have my boyfriend and my best friend in my head. I miss them, and I miss my grandma who passed away yesterday morning. I hate that I’ll never hear her accent again. I hate that I’ll never get another letter from her in the mail. Uncle Stan is gone too, and I have no one to write to anymore. I’m not depressed– just grimly realizing that this will never stop. As I get older, I’ll encounter loss after loss. The total is up to seven. I’m having to compartmentalize because I can’t miss school or work anymore, and it makes me feel like a bad person. I should be crying. I shouldn’t be able to smile. But I have to buck up because my life can’t stop. In some ways, I hate getting older.
Maria Guadalupe Leal de Raynes, I love you. I hope I am capable of building even a fraction of your strength.