Many yeas ago, when I was very young, I had a first wife. Shelly. (not her real name)She was nine years older than I was. It didn't seem like a lot at the time, but as the years past that difference got larger and larger. We spent ten years together. And even though we loved one another, we did not understand one another.
There were a great deal of things that went on, but long story short, she died. Complications from Asthmas. She was 42 yeas old.
She had three sister still living, two older, one younger. They were always a dysfunctional bunch. They would go for years without speaking to one another.
When she died, I thought they should know. I tried for four years to find them. Any of them. With no luck. I wrote to all of the addresses I had. I called all of the phone numbers. I searched the internet and public records. All the things a private detective would have done. I kept a forward on our address with the post office for more than four years, thinking that one of them would write to her eventually. None did.
After four years I stopped looking for them. I had fallen in love again. Married again, and had a child.
It has now been more than seven years Since Shelly passed. I had almost stopped thinking about all of them. I had stopped feeling guilty. I had moved passed the grief.
That is, until today.
When I came to the gallery there was an email waiting for me. From Shelly's younger sister.
She googled me and found our gallery. One of them was finally trying to find her. Just seven years too late.
As I read the email, asking me if I would help her find her sister, all of the emotions came flooding back. The pain, the anger, the guilt.
I had often thought about what I would say to them if I ever had the chance. All of the sudden I had no idea. Should I call her and tell her what had happened? Should I delete the email forget? Just let them wonder? All of the sudden I was angry at them again for not being there. For more than nine years they have had no word about Shelly.
I'm at a loss.
To Be Continued...