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Dear K.

January 3, 2010

I don’t know how to start.  What to say.  What can I say?  It has been two years and one day since the world lost you and I still don’t – can’t – believe it’s real.

Your babies are growing up fast, and seem very well cared for.  Well loved.  Your mum is doing a good job with them.  They are being instilled with knowledge and memories of their Mummy every day.  They still miss you so much.  They won’t forget you.

Your little brother seems to be sorting his life out – about time, eh?  He’s doing it for you, you know.  He misses you, too.

Your number is still in my mobile phone.  It’s so stupid, isn’t it?  I keep meaning to delete it, but that seems so…so final.  I mean, I know it is final.  I know you’re not coming back.  But, I still can’t bring myself to push that button.  It gives me a shock every time I’m scrolling through my phonebook, looking for a name, a number, and I see it there.  I always stop and it’s just there, looking up at me.  Reminding me.

I’m so sorry, K.  I’m so sorry that we never went for coffee like we planned to.  I’m so sorry that we were too busy to make that call.  To send that text.  I’m so sorry that we never had that conversation that we meant to.  I’m so sorry that you’re gone.

Remember when we were kids?  That holiday?  The laughs at school – you were never much interested in education, were you K?!  We were so different, but had so much in common, too.

I remember the last time I saw you, in town.  I remember you said you had to have some tests.  You were scared, but trying not to show it.  You were talking about going on holiday – you, your hubby, those three wonderful babies.  You said everything would be fine.  Even if it was bad, they had caught it early.  You said it would be okay.  You didn’t believe them when they said there was nothing they could do.  You carried on, lived your life as if everything was fine.  Normal.  No frightening shadow on the wall.  That was who you were.  Some people said you were in denial, but I think you knew.  I heard the news from C.  I thought you’d be ok.  And I kept meaning to make that call.  I did text you.  We said we really had to get together.  I’m so sorry we never did.

Three months later, I heard you were in the hospice.  Still laughing, still joking – always with your babies at your side.  I called, K, to arrange to come and see you.  They never called back.  Two days later you were gone.  You made it through Christmas, sweetheart, you gave them that.  And New Year, too.

I can still see your face.  Your freckles, your brilliant blue eyes, the red of your hair.  I can hear your laugh – nobody could ever laugh like you, or be sad when you were around.  Your hugs were the best – strong and gentle, you really meant them.  I hope your babies remember them, K.

I’m so sorry, K, for what happened.  26 is too young, by anybody’s standards.  Cancer is such a cruel thing.  You fought bravely.  You loved truly.  You are missed by more than you know.

Sleep tight, my friend.

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5 Comments leave one →
  1. January 3, 2010 16:29

    That’s a beautiful memorial, Hannah. I’m sorry you couldn’t get to see your friend before the end.

    • bubbleboo permalink
      January 3, 2010 16:34

      Thank you, David (hugs)

  2. Lona Carr Breitkopf permalink
    January 3, 2010 18:38

    Thank you, it’s a universal memorial, Hannah. I hope we are motivated to heed your words and act instead of simply producing words.

    Our daughter Stephanie died at twenty-six. I agree–it is too young.

    God bless.

    • bubbleboo permalink
      January 3, 2010 19:40

      I’m sorry, dear Lona x

  3. January 3, 2010 20:41

    {{{{{K}}}}} and hugs for you as well.

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