Dear Rosie

Dear Rose,

I met your mother yesterday. I was walking along the street, that one right opposite the church you used to go to. She saw me first and stopped me to say hullo. She was in a bit of a hurry and i figured she was late for something. She looked at the church and said she had booked a mass for you and she was running later for it. I saw her eyes begin to tear and then she gave me a quick hug and went her way.

I watched her a while, watched as she got to the entrance, wiped her shoes and made the sign of the cross. I watched your mother and all the while i thought of how it is that you were indeed gone.

It should not surprise you that close to a year later, your mother still holds a mass for you as often as she does. I never saw a stronger woman on the day you were laid to rest. She grieved on the inside and would not let anyone see by the way of tears how much it pained her. She walked about, her rosary in hand, counting off the little beads and muttering under her breath.

She was praying for you. She never stopped.

When we were younger, people used to tell us that Kings did not do the number five. You know what i mean....that toilet business that requires of you to have a newspaper or a book or your phone so you do not get bored as you empty your bowels. For a moment there, i looked at your picture and i wondered how it is that you could just be gone. You were one of those people that just weren't allowed to go and if perhaps you had to go, it was to be after this aging process that would see you gracefully wear the silver hair, the slight wrinkles where the laugh lines should have been and the long skirts and elegant tops with a brooch in place.

Seeing you then and thinking of the picture in my head, i finally saw that the picture we paint of others is a picture to console ourselves. I know now that the picture in my head was really to give me the hope that you would beat this. I never, even for a day believed that you wouldn't make it. When they lost hope and said it was done, in my heart i knew it was not. That picture kept hope alive. If it would take a miracle to see you get back on your feet, that miracle was going to happen.

Only it didn't.

Even now, i refuse to acknowledge it. I was packing up a few things the other day and i found one of the tee shirts we made for the fundraiser. I couldn't bring myself to look at the picture at the front. I folded it and put it away. It has not yet been settled in my heart. I still feel like it is not what it is.

Your mother though, she knows that you are in a better place. She prays for you. Lights candles for you and talks about you with the most beautiful smile. She is certain that you lived such a life that your place beyond was secured. She takes each day, knowing that one day, she will see you, hold your hand, and thank you for fighting what was probably the hardest battle you ever fought.