A Love Letter?

I love her.  She wasn’t my best friend and I wasn’t hers.  I was with her five days a week eight hours a day.  Why do I constantly refer to her in the past tense?  She is not dead yet.  She is a shell of the woman she was though.  A little bird.  She has known she has ALS for about a year and a half now.  The transformation has been shocking.

I love her style and her kindness.  She is so vivacious even now although she can’t talk anymore.  Her texts are all her.  That hasn’t changed, still worried about everyone else.

She has to have help getting dressed.  She must have a lot of input because even in her condition she always looks more put together than I do.

The end is closing in on us.  I say us because we are the ones that will be left behind with a gigantic hole left in our lives.  She will be out of her misery.

I’ve had friends die before, but suddenly (violently) I have never had someone so close suffer for so long.

God, I already miss her, have for about the last year.  Her voice is still on the voicemail.  A reminder of the way she was.  I listen to it sometimes just to remember her.  It’s been so long I don’t recognize it anymore.

I’m finally writing about this because I feel the end is imminent.    I feel a sense of urgency.  For what I don’t know.   I don’t know how to feel, how to act.  Do I start crying now?  Should I hold it in until it happens?  I guess I’m starting now.


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