Today is April 25th. Two years ago, on this very day, the only best friend I have ever known was shot and killed in a violent act of love gone wrong. With one event, my entire life changed with no warning. I have spent all day trying to think of what I wanted to say about this; I mean, shouldn’t I say something?
Two months after her passing, I was consumed with the same dilemma; shouldn’t I be doing something? A writer even then, all I could muster up the strength to do was write about her, write about what I was feeling. Other than my husband, no one has ever seen the words I wrote or even heard me speak of them. Here we are, two years later, and I think I have finally found my voice and my courage to share:
Nothing's really happened to me,
you can all be sure I'm fine.
Funny, how many used to ask
when tragedy was on their mind.
Two months now have came and went,
74 days to be exact.
Outside I seem to be so brave
while weight lays upon my back.
I see your face everyday
but that is nothing new.
I saw your face yesterday,
and I will tomorrow too.
Quick to listen and slow to speak,
has been my life these hours.
I want to love and feel again
but my fear of loss devours.
Wasn't long before this end
I was happiest of all my time,
then all was taken like a thief in the night
from one 10 second crime.
Anger isn't something I feel right now
nor loss, or fear or doubt.
I know that God has overcome
and I will learn to live without.
I've never been so alone
and the silence makes me doubt;
my unforgiveness towards this sin
is not what God's about.
Every sinner has a future
I know this all too well.
I pray that my friend asked for grace
And in your arms she dwells.
I try to be strong to help the weak,
as Jesus says to do,
but is there a point when you can just sit down
and have Him take care of you?