Last year, I walked with my friends. I wrote about it. I remember it fondly. I wondered why I don't do things like this more often. I mean to, but people are busy. I'm busy. They're busy. It's always some damn thing.
Today, I was working. A woman from church came in. We talked. She matter of factly said something about Kathy's death, assuming I knew. I did not. I didn't know, and the news hit me right square between the eyes. I couldn't breathe for a second. I remembered a hot summer night, and how we all walked that night giggling like school girls. And now, impossibly, my friend has died. My friend died last night.
The woman left, and I stood there, still in shock. Still. In shock.
An acquaintance came up and slapped a bag of feed on the counter. He said something. I don't even know what, and I looked at him, and he asked me if I was alright at precisely the same time that I burst into tears. He stood there, looking around wildly, saying, "Uh oh," not quite sure what to do.
I gathered my wits, and I stopped crying. I took a deep breath, and I ducked my head, and went back to work.
It seemed like a long night, longer than usual, and I did my work with girlish giggles echoing in my mind.
It was less than a year ago. Almost a year. Not quite. Not long, though. Not a long time ago at all, and it all changed so suddenly, and excuse my french, but it's so fucking just not fair.