March 15th, 1981
She’s gone and I hate her... She’s a liar. She told me she would never leave me, that she’d always be there to protect me. My father told me she was a goner when she was first diagnosed with cancer, he told me she wasn’t strong enough. That she was weak. He would make me look at her, make me watch her die. I watched the color of her body slowly drift into a pale corpse...Leaving us behind...Leaving me behind. I guess I should be upset... I should be crying, grieving, anything. I can hear my relatives whispering about me, ‘Didn’t she love her?’ ‘Everyone grieves in different ways.’. To answer their questions I did love her. She was my whole world, my best friend, and my hero. And I never cried..not in public at least. Crying was a sign of weakness. God forbid if I’m weak. I guess the truth is I don’t hate her for dying...I just hate that it wasn’t me.