I’m writing about your death and the aftermath because I know it’s what you would want me to do.There are easier things to do than to write about death on a sunny Saturday afternoon.
But I can almost hear: “They need to know,” your whisper somehow seeping through the other side- “They need to know it’s okay to be broken and sad and afraid. In your weakness you’ll give them strength. Keep writing, even if that also means you keep crying.”
And so I do.
For them, for me, but mostly for you.