In the next few months, we will be working toward making that dream come true. We will shake off our fears, pack up our worldly possessions, our two dogs, my father, and God help us, his dog, and leave this place.
It will not be easy to leave. My daughter is buried here.
I know it's crazy and maybe a little morbid. This attachment I have to that grave is surely some kind of spiritual metaphor for my life. But, it hurts to think no one will leave flowers on her birthday or a Christmas tree in December. There won't be anyone standing over her grave updating her on the Texas Rangers progress toward a World Series pennant. But, then again, I know she's not really there.
I recently became friends with a woman who, believe it or not, lost her 17 year old daughter in 2001, and her name was Lauren. We were talking last night about how she has carried a box full of her Lauren's things all over the country and she didn't know why. I told her I understood. I have trophies and dolls and even a baton bag that has not been opened in six years. I think the reason we do this is, these girls were so young when they died. They never were married or had children. I'm not sure if either of them were ever in love. So we keep their things as a kind of proof they ever existed. I don't know who we are trying to prove it to. Perhaps those who, themselves do not yet exist.
Anyway, I know I have to keep on living and taking care of the ones I live for.
Oh, and that sweet friend said she would take flowers to Lauren's grave for me. How can I leave a friend like that?