And so she lives in my heart

I asked him if he and I could talk on Monday

because that was her birthday. 

She would've been 84. 

It will be 3 years in June. 

The grief has lightened up, 

but it never went away. 

By my light switch, 

I hang her rosary, 

an Emily Dickinson quote attached from her funeral: 

"This world is not conclusion; 

a sequel lies beyond. 

Invisible as Music, 

but positive as sound."

She was the embodiment of God, 

a person of virtue. 

I am sorry I didn't call her more often. 

Sometimes I didn't understand her

soft-spoken words that carried such deep thought. 

I will never understand what it was like to live through World War II, 

come out alive, 

make it to America, 

and leave the love of her life. 

Despite all the bitterness she encountered, 

she turned everything into sugar. 

I've been learning how to do that, too. 

When my friend wanted me to illegally cross the street, 

I thought so badly of him. How could he be willing to risk my life?

But now I have him blocked. 

It is how I set my boundaries. 

But I don't look at him with malice anymore (or at least, not as much as before). 

Instead, I see him as a learning experience: 

I trusted him too quickly by Facebook friending him and talking every day 

on Messenger. 

When I cried last year because he sat next to me and recognized me, 

I thought I was weak, 

but I know now that I am a strong warrior. 

Emotional outbreaks are part of my healing process. 

I want to learn how to be ok with being alone. 

It is terrifying, though, when my ex-friend showed up out of nowhere, 

more than a year after I ended us. 

But you know what? 

SHE learned how to live alone. 

SHE had to be alone in her recliner. 

SHE showered me with love when she was hurting. 

She is with me every day now

in the necklace I wear

in the songs I sing

in the passions I pursue. 

She may be buried, resting peacefully next to her husband, 

but she is alive and well in my heart.