I Didn’t Kill Him

“He died. I could have died once or twice, but it was him. And I was powerless. I was even frozen when I found out. And in many ways I still am, though it will be eight years this December.
He didn’t use drugs, except when he did, I guess. And I should have died first. That’s what the signs pointed to.”
Something I thought of tonight while playing around in my wacked out head again.
She then began to say, “Something left in the past. But a lesson is there somewhere. One day I hope to find it. And the healing it must take to overcome death of a loved one, wow, it is a real struggle, isn’t it? Any loss is an awful feeling.” Premature death is always a mother fucker.
Excuse the “mother fucker” but some times it really is fitting.
“So if there is an angel watching over me I hope they talk to him so they can know everything they need to to keep up with me. Ha! It’s likely how I’ve survived all this time.”
Such hope she saw at the end of the night, such little hope in my heart some days. And life goes on. And love still hurts. And love also heals. Time hurts too.
“We used to speak every week without fail. And then that night I should have heard from him. It was Christmas Eve for God’s sake.”
After a pause she said with a quivering voice, “I didn’t kill him. But since he died, I’ve gone through every scenario and plan and universal arrangement possible trying to figure out how this happened. And I’ll I know for a fact is it wasn’t me.” tears falling and head a little low she says ” I would have killed myself first. I loved him that much”