|molly, at home.|
they were so similar in so many ways.
instead, the girl across the street died by random gunfire, leaving behind an infinite number of paths not taken.
probably the least of which is simply being our neighbor. just across the street.
molly conley's mom is still there, almost two years gone by. we hug her every chance we get, which isn't often. we saw her even less than usual during the recent trial, conviction, and sentencing of molly's killer.
what's she to do, after all? come bounding over with talk of great weather and flowers in her garden and "oh-my-gosh we should get together for a glass of wine on the patio"?
we want to reach out, but aren't wise enough to know how. we know this because, surprised to see her out walking her dogs last week, we waved and blurted a cheerful, "hello!"
because we like her, and were happy to see her.
the hello hung in the air, briefly, before she kindly looked up, smiled a small smile, and kept walking.
the unspeakable patiently waits and watches and listens. spoken or not, it will be part of the conversation, soon enough.
our daughter is smart and athletic and confident. she's just, you know, someone who makes you smile, someone you want to be around. which is the same way molly's mom described her daughter in one of our first conversations.
i believe we surround ourselves with people who reflect who we are and who we want to be. and because i believe this...i think our girls would've been friends.
one of countless paths it might've been nice to watch them follow.
kiss a lover, dance a measure
find your name and buried treasure
face your life, its pain, its pleasure
leave no path untaken
~ neil gaiman