I have the airline tickets. I have the agenda. I have the music. I have everything ready to take you up to the mountain in June. Everything except the courage.
Is courage the right word? Not sure. I am sure that when I planned for this date on the Grand Mesa, it seemed like it was far in the future. And now, I wake up every morning knowing that it is a day closer. And I panic. Just writing this page has made my heart beat harder and faster.
Can I do this? Can I leave your ashes on the Mesa and get in the car and just drive away? Not sure. I know it is the right thing to do because we have discussed this very subject since late 1988, after Mom died. I know it is the right thing to do. But can I do it?
In the early morning of November 27th, I knew I should have told the paramedics to stop the chest compressions. I knew you did not want that to go on as long as it did. But, with my heart breaking and pounding at the same time, I froze. If it had been anyone else, I could have handled it better. But, it was you – and I didn’t want you to leave. I just couldn’t get my voice to say the words.
A broken promise.
When Mom and Dad died, and when Gram and Larry died, I was able to say my good-byes knowing they were left on the beautiful Grand Mesa that they loved. I felt at peace knowing their wishes had been honored. But they were not the love of my life. They did not know all of my insecurities and secrets. They could not finish my sentence after I began it with one word. As much as I love them, they could never wrap their arms around me and assure me that everything was good. And make me believe it. Not like you could.
You wouldn’t break a promise to me. And yet, I know that you forgive me. That is who you are. And so, this promise to take you to the Mesa – I will keep. Not because of the person I am; but because of the person you are.
so, ready or not.