Only a few days ago you entertained me with our usual hide-and-seek game among the bed covers. Then your cheerful tap dance in the kitchen, happily greeting me, eager for breakfast.
Now you’re gone, and the hole in my heart threatens to devour me.
I see you, Roger, everywhere I turn. I am confronted with the memory of your blithe, yet caring spirit and ever-cheerful nature cruelly juxtaposed with the desperate, frightened face of your final illness.
I scream, “It should have been me.”
It’s not at all fair. You were loved beyond measure by people near and far. We deserved more time with you. We needed it.
It should not have been your burden to carry me through rough times, but you did, and you shouldered it so well, my friend.
I will do my best to pull through.
As you would have wanted.
As you would have needed.
I owe your memory that much. I owe you so much more.