Holocaust

C is still here.

She says she will go to her village on Monday. Let’s see.

I have been trying to write all morning. I sit at my laptop and don’t write. I chat online or stare. I don’t even remember to stare at a blank page.

I woke up in the morning and realized they are all dead. I mean all the girls. They must be. There is no way they survived. The sense of this, that they all must have died, is part of my whole life. It’s like my own personal holocaust. Everyone is dead. Only I lived.

It gives me a sense of being really old, because that’s kind of how elderly people feel. All of their childhood friends have started to pass on. There is the next generation, but their own generation is dwindling. That is how I feel.

You never really get to start over. Life is continuous. It’s not that I got out and life can start now. Life is what it is now because of what it is then. I don’t really know what that means, but I think it means whenever something good happens, I am going to feel the absence of the people I loved as a child. On any important occasion, I am going to notice that they are not there and I will see the event in relationship to that.

I don’t know how to explain that exactly. Just that is my experience. It isn’t unique, but it isn’t typical either. It isn’t usual. It is exactly and precisely my own life.

At the moment, it’s harder. The feelings of loss I have are really intense. It’s hard to manage them and also think about other things. Some day, it will get easier. But I think I will still feel it. I will still think about them on every occasion.

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