Time Has Stood Still
 
Why did you leave me? 
You hadn't shown me how to make chocolate mousse yet. 
I hadn't had the chance for you to see me get married, to watch me have children.
You didn't get to see me graduate.
 
As I stood there by your bedside, wanting to rip off the ventilator and yell, and scream and cry, you were slowly dying.  I couldn't say much to you because I knew.  Because I was right.  I know you did hear me when I told you to go quickly because you did.  And you visited me.  I was in a car when you passed away, and I know that you couldn't have had the person who came for you come to see me.  I know these things.
 
Maybe you understand now why I am the way I am.  I am sorry that it is like that, but I always felt that's the way it had to be.  There would be only so much I would guardedly say, only so much I would let you know.  But now you must know.  I've there's very little you don't know when you get to where you are.  You are just a memory away, a whisp of imagination that I can always talk to. 
 
And I want to know what all you said on that tape.  By the way, I am as nosy as you are, even if it causes me pain.