Because you're at that camp really really far away.

Dear Kristy,

I went to your funeral yesterday. It was very difficult; it seemed unreal.

I kept expecting you to pop around the corner with your huge smile exclaiming "Just kidding!" at the top of your lungs. But you didn't. You lay in your casket looking very beautiful though not quite like yourself. Don't worry, they didn't do a horrible make-up job, but you weren't smiling - it wasn't you. The curve of your forehead was the only part of you that I recognized with sickening surety and I stared at it, remembering the real you. Sometimes I stared so long I thought I saw you breathing.

Your brothers and cousins and I all agreed we were waiting for you to prank us. Tony said he could feel you next to him, taunting him to touch your hand, calling him a wuss when he wouldn't. We all laughed at that. Periodically little groups of conversation would burst out in laughter, recounting your stories. That part made it almost bearable. I know you really wanted us to have a party. You can't believe how many people came - relatives I've never even met. Ted and I talked about how we couldn't sleep until we bought our plane tickets. I know you were there in the middle of it all.

Your mother was amazing. She of course thought nothing of herself and spent every drop of energy buoying all your mourners, which were many. I never saw her without her arms around someone and a smile on her face, urging them to remember you with peace. We made her eat during the viewing even though the line was solid. So she greeted some people with turkey sandwich in hand, never slowing. When she spoke at the family testimony meeting on Friday I saw her with new eyes for eternity and I marveled. She is a small, modest, fiesty spiritual warrior. After your graveside service, she and I giggled about your "paparazzi" treatment, knowing you were loving the attention.

I think the hardest thing is: I wasn't done. I wasn't ready to be done playing with you. And there were things about you - huge, glaringly obvious things - that I missed because of my own imperfections. The way you were unfailingly honest without being judgmental. The way your interest to know was equivalent to your intent to help. And for as much as you talked, you never told anyone about all the kind things you did for other people or about how much pain you were in yourself. I hate that these are realizations forced upon me by your parting. Please forgive me.

I miss you so much. One of these days I'll stop crying, okay? I'll get there. I just really really miss you. So much. Rock that spirit world hard. (As if we had any doubts you would.)

I LOVE YOU.
~Cheryl

P.S. Dude, they sent out one of the 70s to speak at the funeral. You totally rate.