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2001-12-14 05:28:28 (UTC)

Mark's Journal from 5/7/1978

Written by Mark:

No one cares, no one knows, for I won't tell them.
Everyone carries with them, a personal anguish, a haunting,
reoccurring instance in life which follows us wherever we
may go. Mine has to do with love, and being loved and
death.

It began casually. I was livingt in Hartsville at the
time, with my father. I called my mother one night at his
insistence. My sister Laurie was in the hospital with
acomparatively minor asthma attack. "She'll be fine," I
was told. I don't even remember how long it was after
that, but my father picked my up from school one day; we
were riding down College Ave. amidst the everchanging
trees. The live and the marvelous greenery which I have
only recetly come to cherish. It was then that he told me
Laurie had died. What could I say? What could I do?

I went to my mother either that day or the next; I can't
recall exactly. All the people were there and the food.
It was more of a picnic than a time of mourning. All I
could do was sit in my old blue suit and chain smoke. I
don't actually know how my mother fared at this time. I
was in shock. All that remember (sic) is going into her
bedroom where I found her crying. She hugged me, and from
somewhere in the deep well of my callousness or apathy or
stupidity or something other, I managed to say "you'll get
over it" Such comfort.

At this time I had yet to shed a tear. I think I prided
myself in my imagined strength. It was only later, after
the funeral that the total effect of what had happened
struck me. I walked in the empty house. There was no one
else home. I wandered into Laurie's room and sat down on
her bed, which would forever be empty of her slight form.
There was a sheet of paper lying there, picking it up I saw
that a name was written upon it. "Laurie Devlin" Then did
I cry and wail and bemoan the fate of my little sister. My
little sister, who died in a hospital, alone, frightened
and sick. I realized there in that bedroom, that I had
never told her that I loved her! She died not knowing.
That fact has tortured me ever since. NOt constantly. But
every so often my personal, waking nightmare returns, and I
beg God to tell Laurie that I love her.

The reason I am telling this now is because of a nightmare
I had last night.


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