Dear Anita

Grief is great tonight. 

My soul hangs heavy with sorrow, like a cloud drooping low with rain. 

I wasn't prepared. But who ever really is prepared for death? Were you, in your last hours? A peace deep within me tells me you were. 

But even that peace doesn't nullify the sickness in my soul. They sent me home early from work yesterday because I was crying. It was hours before I even stopped--only to start again. You were taken too soon, too young to go. I don't understand. 

You know, there were times when I didn't really like you. When I was 17 you caught me talking to someone during class. You asked me if I had anything to share. I was humiliated, but deserved it. Sometimes I didn't like class or grades. Sometimes I didn't like your direction. 

And yet, we worked together for years. First as teacher an pupil, later as director and actor. Even later, when I was older, sometimes I'd come to your classes and you'd ask me to teach the new kids how to play the improv games. 

I don't know when it happened, but over time, you slipped your way into my heart. You weren't just a teacher anymore, but a friend. Later, you were more like family, a motherly figure. 

And that's the funny thing about relationships. Often we can't put a finger on the moment they develop or become more important. They just open up slowly, like the bloom of a flower. Before I knew it, you had become one of the most important people in my life. I knew that even when you left for Texas. It broke my heart to see you go.

Now, I'm no good at this grieving thing. I don't get it. I don't know how it's done. But Anita, you've left such a hole in my heart. I don't know how to fill it. When I'm not crying, my soul is. 

I guess the bottom line is this: I don't know what to do without you. And I hope that I said it to you when I had the chance, but, I love you, Anita.