Dear friend of my younger days, these days of September are cold and grey. They have always been sad and bent, like a wrinkling old face. We have been through many of these September days, always remembering your birthday. But I'll never forget that year when I was called out of your party and given news that pulled the carpet from under the feet of the one I love most. I'll never forget that dreary weekday afternoon, the clouds, the wind, the words choking his throat, the ache in the voice, the knot in the throat and the killing silence. I'll never forget how the helplessness and hurt suffocated me to absolute emptiness. The gnawing, painful silence of pain and hidden tears.
We still haven't forgotten any of your birthdays, dear friend. And today after years, I have mustered the courage to write into the void that was created on your special day. I add my words to the space left empty by a pretty, young angel.
As always, we'll celebrate your life, dear friend, but as always, I'll be celebrating death...the darkness we are winning over.