Tears inched down the faces of everyone in the chapel as the rabbi read my poem. I thought getting my feelings out would make me feel better and that writing something would help. It didn't do anything except give the rabbi something from me to read. It doesn't explain why it all had to end or help me come to terms with anything. It doesn't keep the tears from falling or help me figure out how to go on without you.
Nothing does that.
No more having you call me to wish me a happy half-birthday. No more of that smile that was as beautiful as the lilacs that you loved so much. No more. . . . We had something that a lot of people my age never have with their grandparents - a friendship. But now you won't be at my wedding or see my children born.