Written August 2, 2009
Dear God (or whoever is in charge of this screwed up universe), How can you do this? How can you take away my husband, my best friend, my lover of 35 years? Don't you understand that I will never reach across the bed in the middle of the night and touch him, just to know he is there? I will never see the look in his eyes when he says he loves me. I will never feel his arms around me when he sneaks up behind me at the kitchen sink to cop a feel. I will never know his embrace, never spoon with him, never feel his hands on me or breathe the same air as he. I'll never wash his back again, nor will he mine. Who will I pour orange juice for in the mornings? Who will walk on the beach with me at night and kick the water to make it sparkle? What am I supposed to do with this, you monster. Why? What else do you want from me, you SOB? You have my father, took him before I could even know him. You took my mother, drove her insane with grief. Remember Harry, my big brother? The one you took when he was only 14? You took my baby brother John before his boys could grow up. You took my best friend 13 years ago, and now the love of my life. Will you ever get enough of my people? Who will you go after now? My only living brother? One of my dogs? What will it take to satisfy you? My darlings Kristy and Gretchen, the stepdaughters who turned into my best friends? You already have my only son, lost to me to schizoaffective disorder. I am so mad at you. I hate your guts, is what I do. And don't try to placate me with platitudes about how Clint died peacefully and with grace and dignity. HE'S STILL DEAD, YOU BASTARD. And so are the others.