Dear Janelle

May 1, 2012

Dear Janelle,

I know that, wherever you are, you are happy. You went out like everyone would like to go out. It was peaceful and painless. We all agree that it was absolutely the best thing for you, and the way you would have wanted to go.

For the rest of us, though, it has been very hard. In my opinion, a person should not just leave like that. Without saying goodbye or telling anyone. It was quite a shock. It’s rude, even. Actually, you did it like the way you went to bed during parties. You just quietly slipped away because you didn’t want the fun to stop just because you were going to go to sleep.

But still.

I mean, we weren’t done with you yet. I had things to talk to you about. No, not anything specific that I can think of right now. I mean, in the future. We had all kinds of stuff to talk about. And laugh about. And make fun of. And cool words to marvel over. Plus, we hadn’t finished figuring Mikey out yet.

And what are the Burkes--especially the Knoxville Burkes-–supposed to do now? You know how disorganized and incompetent we are. We can each barely take care of ourselves. We certainly can’t take care of ourselves and mom and each other. I can do the communication part, like I’ve always done. "Hey, everyone, next Thursday is the anniversary of mom and dad’s anniversary. Mom would probably like to go out to dinner and/or get a phone call or something that day."

But you were always the one who organized the actual plan. If it hadn’t been for you, we would have never gotten the folks’ 50^th anniversary celebration off the ground. We would have started too late, for one thing–if at all. We Burkes are not planners-ahead, as you well know. In fact, we’re not even that good at planning when the moment is absolutely upon us. You know how you always hated all of the standing around in the driveway, with everyone saying, "I don’t know. Where do you want to go?" You’d finally get mad enough that, in spite of your resolve not to be the one to make the decision, you would say, "Okay, dammit, we’ll go to Sullivan’s." (Or wherever.)

You were the Burke Herder. We couldn’t plan our way out of a paper bag, and you know it. You have really left us in the lurch. I mean, honestly. It’s been close to two weeks since you died, and you know what? I haven’t called my mother even once! I keep meaning to, but then I forget.

You don’t just go and die and leave a bunch of Burkes behind to plan a funeral. Good grief! We have no idea what we’re doing! If it weren’t for Patti, Michael and Maryl would’ve never even gotten out to California. Thankfully, one of your friends has the planning gene and used it on our behalf. But I already tried to talk her into taking over the care and feeding of my mother, and she didn’t take the bait.

When I look around your house, I see all of the things you left undone. Because you were coming right back and would attend to them then. You were apparently sorting all of the most recent mail and bills on the dining room table that y’all rarely ever used (for dining, that is). You had more flowers to plant.

You didn’t like the idea of leaving a mess behind when you died. You had told me–jokingly–many times that that’s why you hadn’t committed suicide after you and John C. got divorced. You couldn’t think of a non-messy way to do it (to do it right, that is), and that meant that some poor soul would have to come along after you and clean up the mess. So, what the hell, you decided. Might as well live.

Well, this time, you didn’t decide to live. You decided to leave. (Did you even know?) And here we are. Bereft.

Hummmppphhh. (As you would have said.)