Ok, time to move on… sort of.
It’s been a week since I found out that one of my best friends/ ex-husband (only a marriage of convenience. he needed health insurance very badly) hung himself in a closet at his grandmothers house. A few days later, when I could make it back to my hometown, I went over to Margies (dana’s grandmother) with flowers and to talk about things. Unfortunately-she wasn’t home. I left the flowers and a note at the side door, and then walked around to the side of the house and stared at the basement window. Danas window, that I had always used to get his attention to come outside, to sneak what ever teenage contraband I had in, or whatever else we could jam through the tiny port to his dark, lord of the rings inspired, spilled bong water scented bedroom. I stood outside the window with my hand on the glass, semi-weeping and speaking to him/cursing him in my head. As I was doing that, A tiny South American man turned the corner of the house and was face to face with me as I blocked him from doing his landscaping duties. I wiped some tears off my face and sort smiled and uncomfortable smile, told him I was just leaving and got back in my car and went home.
So, Basically, You can get your chance to cry, and be sad, and mourn- but eventually the grass needs to get mowed, and you gotta just move on. Boo.
