There is a plan

It's no coincidence that I just got done reading the parts in Ruhi Book 1 AND Some Answered Questions that were about the soul.

I have no concern as to where she is right now. I am loathe to say she is in a better place, because it is cliche and, well, I'm still pretty sure I'd rather have her here than there. At least for now.

The chain of events is this:

She called me at exactly 6:42PM on November 6. I was in a good mood, had a great party the night before, and I was getting ready to be a part of my first deepening. I heard her cheery voice at the other end and smiled. We exchanged the latest news in our lives, she told me all about how her PhD concentration at school was now going to be sexually abused children. I told her I was very excited because I knew how good a therapist she could be to children, especially in that capacity. I told her I quit smoking. She congratulated me. I told her I loved her so much but that I had to go, but that I really wanted to talk to her again soon. She said, come visit me here in Florida. I said, definitely. She said she loved me too.

She also called Bill that night.

She also called Liz.

She also called her Mom.

Monday she spoke with her aunt and that is the last anyone heard from her.

Someone, I think it was her sister, realized her cell phone had been shut off on Tuesday. She was the only one who could have done this...

Wednesday they found her body and a note. She said she was just tired of being sad all the time. She signed the note with a smiley face.

So for days she knew, she knew when I said I would come visit her, she knew then. And the conviction to die stayed with her for several days.

I can't break into that pain, if I could even understand it, I probably wouldn't be here.

She had enough problems. We all were there for them, had them ourselves, in fact, it's what made us all close at one time or another. Slowly but surely, though, we found other paths. All of us. And she found herself with friends but not superheros. And she left us, moved to Seattle and then to Florida for school. I was worried. But I couldn't follow her out there. And I couldn't ease her pain, and I couldn't change her reality. But I do not feel guilty. Because I had time to prepare, and now I just need some time to grieve. To reconcile the fact that yes, I will never hear her voice again, nor see her face again, nor have her make some ridiculous joke again, nor sit on a back porch with her again, smoke with her again, talk about boys with her again, walk dogs with her again, laugh with her again, or cry with her again.

But I will be with her again. I believe that. So for now I will just be patient.