7

 Dearest Lisa,

It's September again, and the now familiar sorrow intensifies.  As I write this, it's the day before my birthday.  I will be 54- two years older than you were.  I wonder if you would even recognize me now- so many changes.

I wonder what you would think of the times we live in now.  Knowing you, you'd probably have a mask to match every outfit.  Aside from that, I'm not sure.  I guess you'd be railing against the evil of the GOP (your former party) for destroying itself by aligning with a mad man.  You'd be out there on the protest line like a few of us.  I assume that after seven years you would've gone full time some years back.  Knowing you, you would've already had the surgeries you considered.  Or not.  Definitely a boob job. 

Dancing at Angela's Laptop Lounge, August 6, 2012.  

Seven Years.  Seven whole fucking years since that horrible day.  Seven years since you left Sandy alone- left your children without you.  Left the trans community behind.  Left all the unbearable Pain that you suffered and surrendered to the Darkness.  You left after promising me that you wouldn't. 

You left me wondering how I didn't see it coming, and how I was going to get through this Darkness without you.  Yes, I see you in my dreams when you visit, and I know you're watching out for Sandy.  Yet, you can't speak to us anymore.  We can't see your smile except in pictures that are becoming old. 

There are so many "new" girls who never got to hear you laugh, yet know of you from the stories that I and others who were blessed to know you tell.  I sent a message to someone who never got the chance to meet you.  I said "She [you] was a phenomenon.  She was so strong in so many ways, yet so fragile.  That was, in a way, her glory, and it was her end." 

The last message

In seven years, the world changed.  We now have a world-wide pandemic, which in this country was made worse by the lack of precautions and actions from leadership.  Tens of thousands died because the mad man lied.  Nearly 200,000 Americans dead.  Life completely changed. 

As for me, I still have the same dead eyes I've had since you died.  Thanks to inactivity due to quarantine and depression, I've gained thirty pounds.  I look like a globby parody of a person.  I'm still here at Penn State, doing my best to continue with my studies.  I rarely doll up or go out anymore.  Linda is too busy with work, and I'm far older than everyone in my school cohort.  Besides, not many places remain open.  And I just can't muster the desire.

Seven years, Lisa.  What you could've accomplished- for yourself, for Sandy, for the community... I guess we'll never know.  All I see is who and what you left behind.  I get it.  I know that Pain that is so incredibly intense that living each second is agony.  Each breath is a regret.  Yes, I understand, and you know I do. 

So all I can do is write letters you will never see, and speak to people you never knew in places you never saw- and have them wonder why I still hold that torch of your memory.

You know why.  I say it every year.  Every fucking year for seven years now, and I'll say it as long as I suffer on this Dark world. 

I love you; I miss you; and I always will.

Yours,

S