remorse for nothing I've done

I am not like the others.
I didn't learn about you
or your family
until it decreased in size
suddenly
and without apology.
I did not line up outside the church,
my feet numb against the December pavement
out of communal grief
and concern.
I did not lie awake
reading obituaries
out of morbid curiosity.
I did not write you -
send my deepest sympathy
to a stranger
because it was the right thing to do.
I did not cry for you
out of what I assumed you were feeling.

I am not a grief groupie.

I did those things because I remember you
how important you were to me
how much I respected you
cherished what I learned from you.

I did it because the wild dog that had ripped open my chest
was fierce
and knew exactly which strands to leave intact
and which to shred
nearly beyond recognition.

I hated it.

Because despite the fact that I could name the person in the box
had had a year's worth of cafeteria lunches with her
I did not feel that I deserved the grief I felt
could not lawfully claim that sadness that had built itself a home in my lungs
expanding with each breath
and then spreading through my veins
an incurable disease
that never goes away
but rather lies dormant in one's system
until a moment of weakness
a sad song
a sudden pain
sends you into relapse.

And I miss you
because I know how terribly I will feel it
if I find that I didn't tell you so
and we start this vicious cycle anew
again.