Not that I didn't test her, but even Xena can't drive fast enough to outrun some things. Three years today, and for the first time in those three years I woke up this morning and felt like I could take a deep breath without crumbling. Paul died on January 26, but today is the day we buried him. This day is the one that gives me the most trouble of all the bad days that come along. The day he died was surreal, not solid, not tangible. But that day we sat in the frigid cemetery and I saw that box next to that awful hole in the ground, that is the day that is seared on my mind like a brand. The blister heals and the angry red turns to a faint pink, but the scar never goes away. As they say, time does heal all wounds, but time seldom erases those scars. I visited his grave and looked at his name carved on that granite marker and memories flashed through my mind. Happy ones, sad ones, memories filled with regret, longing for those missed opportunities to be a better mother, a better friend during his too short life. I want him to be happy wherever he is. I want him to remember me and know that I love him the same way I swear to remember him always. I will let a few tears fall, I really have no choice in that, but I also know that tomorrow I will dry my eyes and life will continue. I will tuck those painful memories away and hold them for another year and I will try to drive as fast as I can to keep ahead of them, knowing that in about a year from now they will catch up with me again.
PAUL J NIELSON
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