![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the letter I wrote and sent to Heaven yesterday, since I happened to be close to where it needed to be mailed from. The funeral home I did my educational observation at just happened to be the one adjacent to the cemetery where the wife of my childhood friend, Mark, was buried last May.
When I wrote about Kellie's passing last spring, and later about my mixed feelings toward her because of what became of a mutual friend of ours I'll call Tara, I realized and obvious fact that never occurred to me before: Tara is an alcoholic. Kellie made a convenient scapegoat for me, but my anger at her was misplaced. It was easier to hate Kellie than to mourn Tara, so that's what I did. Now that Kellie is dead, I felt a need to make peace with her that I never felt when she was alive. Since a face to face conversation is not possible, I wrote her a letter.
( Making Peace with the Departed )
When I wrote about Kellie's passing last spring, and later about my mixed feelings toward her because of what became of a mutual friend of ours I'll call Tara, I realized and obvious fact that never occurred to me before: Tara is an alcoholic. Kellie made a convenient scapegoat for me, but my anger at her was misplaced. It was easier to hate Kellie than to mourn Tara, so that's what I did. Now that Kellie is dead, I felt a need to make peace with her that I never felt when she was alive. Since a face to face conversation is not possible, I wrote her a letter.
( Making Peace with the Departed )
