One year ago, I sat in a pretty room in a pretty hospice house in a pretty Virginia town...it was a quiet, peaceful winter's night. But all of that pretty can't hide the reality of what that house is: a place where people go to die.
The girl who had been my best friend since I was eleven years old was lying in the bed in that room, ready and waiting for God to call her home.
I was leaving the next morning, heading back to Texas...back to my family, back to a job and kids and school and all of the things that fulfill my life as a busy mom. But my heart just wanted to stay right where I was at that moment.
I think I sat by her bedside most of the night, unwilling to give up any of our last precious hours together, not even to sleep. I held her hand, I fed her ice chips, I played music for us on my phone. All the while I was trying to figure out how the hell I was going to say goodbye the next day.
Goodbye is one thing. But this was GOODBYE.
I know she was ready. She was tired, and her soul was at peace.
I'm still not ready.
It's been almost one year since I last saw Trudy's smiling face. One year since she sang Happy Birthday to me for the last time. One year since I heard "I love you Bah".
Time moves on. Life goes on. Grief lives on.
In ten minutes it will be my sixth "bonus birthday" since my very own d-day, which is amazing and fills me with gratitude.
It will also be my first birthday without my Trude, and that is amazingly sad.
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