One of my community neighbors died on Saturday. I read his obituary in today's paper. Rats!
I will miss him. We were at the vacuum cleaner repair shop the last time I saw him and began laughing about stuff. He had great sparkle and loved women (in the best way, not the creepy way).
It gets on my nerves that death means you can't call a person up, run into them at the grocery or see them at the Yacht Club.
Death comes and that's it. I hate it.
People who make my world more interesting or charming or happier, then die, make my world dimmer.
Why didn't I call them up to chat or go see them or make dinner plans with them? Why?
Because I thought I had time. I thought I'd see them again.
I forgot that all human relationships have an end.
Don't tell me that I can talk with them in my dreams or imagine a conversation with them.
I know this. But, Geez Louise!, this isn't the same.
Don't tell me that now is the time to tell people I love them.
I understand this but who can remember this all the time?
If anyone asks you how I am today, tell them, "The finality of death is getting on St. C's nerves."