Monday, Nov. 21, 2011
Dear Diary:

What would we do without our friends?

I survived the party at the home of the woman I don't like, mostly by slipping outside and basking quietly in the surprisingly warm sun for most of the afternoon. People I know also came out to enjoy the last gasps of good weather, so there was lots of simple small talk.

On Friday I went to another party, a birthday party for a friend I just adore. Counting me, there were four women there who've lost a brother or a sister in the last year. It was cathartic to be able to just open up and share experiences. Soft voices, eyes misting with tears.

I am so very grateful for the comfort.

Oh but habits die hard. My sister and I had a little routine. I would call her during the first weekend of the month, and she would call me on the middle weekend. The beginning of this month I caught myself thinking that I should call Julie. A week ago when it was the middle of November I found myself looking at the phone, thinking that I'd hear from her at some point.

I know she's gone, yet I don't know she's gone.

It's an odd place to be.

Each day it gets ... it gets a little easier. I'm through the rage I felt over the fact that she was so young and suffered so much, that the last two years of her life were so stupidly hard. Now what I feel is more about regret and loss.

We're coming up to the first Christmas without Julie. Then we'll cycle through the holidays the first Easter without her, the first time she won't celebrate a birthday on May 18, the first Thanksgiving without her. Each will be painful, but grief is the price we pay for the joy of love.

Nothing comes for free.

--Marn

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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.