Life is Your Story

Since you left I have been crashing into furniture in the dark I have been waiting to feel something for someone else I've re -examined the whole thing Taken it apart piece by piece Argued to the left Argued to the right I'm afraid to go to the places we use to hang out Afraid I may see you - Afraid I may not see you I come home at the end of the day hoping you will be here hoping you've changed your mind about me about us about everything I pray for amnesia to dull the pain I fear that without you there is no me I lay awake at night Waiting to hear your key in the door Waiting for you to come back and tell me that everything is alright that  you never stopped loving me and you will never leave again I need to see you I need to hear you speak my name And I promise you this...  I will wait here A few more moments And if you do not show up As difficult as it may be I will wait here forever I'm sorry Come find me

When someone we love dies, we want them back. Plain and simple. It's like a crime has been committed. They've been taken - sometimes with warning and sometimes without warning - sometimes expected yet always unexpected. There are those we accompany as far as we can toward whatever comes next. We sit by their bed and we wish we could take the suffering and pain away. We are ready to give ourselves in their place. We are aching and frightened. We know what is coming as the butterflies move at warp speed in our stomachs and photos clips turn into horrid collages of the darkest scenes from the obituary in which we can't say what we really want to say and to the funeral that too many strangers attend and the eulogy that will never do them justice and the burial - the shovel to the dirt, the dirt to the coffin, a final curtain call without ample applause to a life well lived and the love they gave. Then there are the ones that just happen the way things just sort of