What can be said to the dead?
It’s like whispering to yesterday…or offering a word or two to last week.
And yet we do it. In our private thoughts and moments compose, whole paragraphs, poignant, erudite, angry, guilty, regretful, apologetic. As if for them but really for ourselves. Maybe to understand. Once a friend was leaving town on a train. Going away for good she said…moving to another city. New job, new life, a good decision. I was going to see her off along with other friends. I was late…missed the train. It felt like an old movie…standing on the platform at the station. Other pals drifting off back to where-ever…”Hey, where were you?” hanging in the air. Say good bye to the back of a train.
And maybe it’s all those things left unsaid…undelivered letters in my head.
My sister died…both of them now gone. Recriminations hung like wreaths around my shoulders. Things I might have said or done. But that’s all cloud work in the sky, tossed and blown and then they’re gone with a morning’s sun. There was nothing finally, that could be done. And that’s the way it always is for everyone…after.
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