I have to say something, but I keep going in circles and repeating myself, trying to insist that I make perfect sense while I'm desperately seeking clarity.

I found the e-mail this morning, and I haven't stopped crying since.  Why does it hurt so much?  It's not /my/ pain.  It's selfish of me to cry, but I'm not just crying for myself.  I asked Amor if it's a normal part of grieving to cry for others, and he replied, "Of course.  It's called empathy."

I keep trying to reach out to others, but I don't know what I seek when I ask these questions.  I've never had to deal with loss before.  But dammit, it's not MY loss, and I have no right to try to monopolize the quota on pain.  I don't deserve any sympathy or condolences.  I don't WANT any, either.  I just want somebody to say, "Yes, it's okay to feel like this."

I feel stupid and helpless.  I want to say something, but everything I want to say sounds trite.  I loved her, and she always made me feel welcome and loved in return.  She was a beautiful, good, amazing, kind person.  I admired her for being herself when everyone else was so different than her.  She was fun, and quirky, and I enjoyed my conversations with her, whether they ranged from what we ate for breakfast or in-depth insights on God.

This is not easy to write.  It sounds contrived, but I swear it's not.  I wish I could call and say something, but what do you say?  The kid brother advised to say similar to what I'm saying here: I loved her, she was always so good to me, so innocent and beautiful, and almost child-like in her simple kindness -- I remember her turning on her music and dancing, not caring if anyone saw.  She was in her own world, enjoying her moment with her music.  I remember her trying to include me in the most silly things, like the sugar-free chocolate bar she gave me after I tried to give up sugar for Lent.  The way her eyes squinched up when she laughed.  She was full of genuine love and beauty.

I'll never forget you, M.