Losing love is one thing. Letting love go is another. They both have their similarities, but my instincts tell me that, while the former may be more intensely difficult, the latter involves more specific difficulties. To make the choice to let someone you love go is an agonizing process much different from just accepting loss.
My grandfather was a classy guy. He was brilliant and the most stubborn person I have ever met. He thought he had met his match with me though. My grandfather was my hero when I was a kid. He paid attention to me unlike anyone else. Even though I was 8 and he was several decades older, we would have debates about everything.
I'm not sure about everyone else in society, but it seems to me that there is something distinctly off kilter in the nation we live in.
I knock on a door. It opens into a long dark and seemingly endless hall way. I know that for the sake of country family and honor I will walk down this hallway. I also know that I am not coming back from this one. There is no road home for me.
This is an essay I've written for my writing class. I want to share it, so...here it is.
***
Natalie is dead. Now Maggie has buried both her children. It is completely unreal, completely vague and fuzzy, but Natalie is abruptly gone.
