I cannot seem to bring myself to write in here much more than the fact that I cannot seem to bring myself to write in here.

Ok then I force myself. And it is because I am distracted, and not because I don't want to write about anything in particular.

We sat holding hands. I was six years old. She was seven. She was my cousin. Still is I suppose. I asked her if she knew what dead was.

She said she did not know. I told her I did not know either. All either of us could come up with is that when that happens to you, you go to a place called heaven.

I told her I did not want to go there because everyone was sad about my mom going there.

She had on a very pretty dress, and I still remember it. I had on a suit with one of those little clip on bow ties.

We held hands all the way to the place they took us. I did not know where we were going, or why. I just knew everyone was dressed up a lot.

When we got there, I saw my mom. She looked like she was sleeping to me. She was laying down in the front of the room.

We sat together on a bench. We held hands and whispered to each other. I asked her if she was going to cry. She told me no. I told her I wasn't going to either then.

We were both wrong. And neither one of us knew why we cried. That was the first time someone who was important to me disappeared. I never saw my mom again after that.

I know a little more about that day now than I did then. I know why she disappeared that day.

I am not angry that she left anymore. I am not angry with anyone anymore.

I just wonder where they went. I just wonder why they disappeared. I just wonder who is next to disappear.

I wonder if my cousin still cries. I wonder where she is. I sure would like to hold her hand again.

And sit on a bench.

And promise that we won't cry.

And promise we won't ever disappear from each other.

Like we did that day.

We were both wrong about that too.