A Hard Goodbye

Waiting for someone to die is not intuitive, and no one can teach us how. It is not natural, though death may be familiar to us by now, but something in us screams that this was not how things were supposed to be.

We don't know how to react. I find myself wanting to do something, but I can't figure out what I should do; I don't know anything that would help, so that gets translated into anxiety. So here I am, anxious, awaiting a phonecall I don't want, by any means. We are odd creatures, you and I.

Aunt Susan is one of those people you can't help but love. She is one of those people who glows, who shines with beauty, joy, and compassion. She is one of those people who knows, without you even having to speak the words. She's the kind of person who finds out you're having financial difficulty and slips a couple of twenties into your pocket when she hugs you goodbye. She's the kind of person who immediately offers her home to you when you don't have a place to live...

Susan is the kind of person you want to know forever. She's the kind of person you'd want to keep on earth for as long as possible, because this place won't be as good without her. And I told God that. But I guess I don't know everything.

Someone told me last night that God is not a genie, and that not everything we pray will be answered and I just stood there, because what I was wanting to say would not have been kind. I don't want God to be a genie. I don't want him to give me whatever I want. I've never been like that. I just wanted him to notice. I just wanted him to help. I just wanted him to do something when I couldn't... I wanted him to do the the thing I was incapable of doing. I wanted him to be strong, and capable, and loving. I guess I've always only wanted him to be a dad for me... unstoppable, invincible... able to conquer even cancer. Even death. And I'm not saying he's not. I'm just saying I can't see it right now. And I tried to. I wanted to. I tried to have faith...

My words are not enough. I considered not even writing. But this is who I am. I have to try. And I want to wait around by the phone all day, but I can't. I shouldn't. I should go to Barnes & Noble and buy that book I've been wanting, and I should meet up with my friends and see a movie like we'd planned, and I should go out to eat tonight and just live. It's so cliche to say: "She would want that." but I know her and I know she would. I know she would want me to go on living, go on hanging out, and get the most out of today. I know she would want my life to be full.

But I will miss you, Susan. I will miss the life that was contagious in you, the smiles, and the laughter. I will miss you in the years to come, and we will all remember you. We will all want you to be there. And no one will quite understand it, because we are incapable. But we will miss you when you go.