An Open Letter to My Friend
I say this with love: I’m worried about you
Please, try not to be angry with me. I care about you so much.
I see the pain you are in. I cannot fix it. Only you can.
I don’t really know what you’re going through, I can only guess at it from the bits and pieces you share with me. From your wild, lunatic, rambling rants on Facebook.
They don’t make sense. It’s not just that your words are misspelled and strung together awkwardly. They don’t make sense.
They are not the words of the woman I know and care about.
They are the words of a banshee, screaming into the void.
Your pain is on display for all the world to see, and they cannot help you either.
I know you are devastated about losing your dad. I understand that. I lost mine, too. I do know how hard that is.
You lost yours without the chance to say goodbye, due to Covid.
I lost mine to an aneurysm, and he was gone before I had the chance to hug him one last time, or have one last chat. All I have left is his final voicemail, in which he blandly recounts his recent doctor’s visit and trip to Costco. I treasure it all the same.
