When
Gordy called me that afternoon to let me know Georgia was gone, my phone
registered her name, not his, and somehow, I managed to hang up while trying to
answer. I called back and he answered and I said I was calling Georgia back
because she’d just called and I hung up on her. He wasn’t expecting that and it
led to tears. I felt very bad. He said he’d left a message on the land line,
but I’d been outside all morning and hardly ever check those messages.
I
told Gordy how sorry I was, that it wouldn’t matter what I said or did, it
really wouldn’t help. I also told him I wasn’t going to say it will get better,
because it doesn’t really. Then we chatted about how John and Georgia were
probably interacting wherever they are.
“Ha ha, I got here first,” says John.
“I
don’t care. I got to stay longer,” Georgia replies
But
beneath all that, I know that John is both sad and happy to see her. I also
know Georgia was glad to know he was there and to walk into his open and loving
arms.
I
counted up and it’s been one day short of nine months since John died. Gordy
got an additional nine months. He got to have her at home, see her every day,
and be by her bedside when she passed. He was nine months luckier than me.
For
me, though, it’s sad, it hurts, it leaves another huge hole in my life. Sure,
it’s all part of life, of living, but, goshdarnit, it doesn’t get any easier. It
brought back the pain I’ve spent nine months trying to cure. Still, I can hear
John saying, “Sister,” the way he always did when he phoned her. I can see them
together, smiling and laughing and talking about us…that does bring a certain
amount of comfort to me.