I see you

Dear Deborah,  I saw you again last nite.  The M. S. was gone, the chromes disease was in remission, and the breast cancer was non-existent.  We had small talk, nothing in particular, and I rolled my sleeves up and began to help you at the bakery.  This time you told me you were far from dead.  I cried many tears of joy, as I did last week when I saw you.  We skated our favorite waltz in competition again, and you were like you were when we won state meet.  That time, I did not tell you you were dead, as I have so many times before.  You would get angry at me, and I didn't want to spoil our moments together.  It's so hard for me to believe that about 6 years ago, you succumbed to the cancer that came back after you lost both of your breasts.  And no one called me.  I hadn't heard from you for awhile, and even the last time we talked, you assured me that you were okay.  So when I called the bakery to see if you were there, they told me you had died the year before.  I was shocked, and angry, why didn't anyone call me.  You were supposed to be okay, fighting the cancer that had returned to a spot on your shoulder.  The reality of the situation over came me, and I became very sad.  I cried for awhile in disbelief.  Then you started to come to me in my dreams.  Are you really okay?  Is that what you are trying to tell me?  When you come to me, I know I am a lot older, out of shape, and unable to skate the way I used to, but we seem to manage.  I always want to hug you, but I know you are dead.  And the dream ends, as frustrating as it began.  I hope you come to me next week, as you have just about every week since you died.  I really want to skate our favorite, but technically difficult, fox trot that  we both loved.  I promise that I wont ruin the moment to remind you that you are dead.  We skated like champions before, with grace, and with ease.  I miss those times.  Five years of skating with someone just doesn't go away, not to mention all of the years that we had known each other.  We had some really good times, and some not so good times.  I remember when the chromes would flair up and I would try to carry you through the dances, and our coach would yell at me and insist that you do it yourself, with out my help.  I remember the times when you were strong from the steroids and would fight me through our dances.  I remember how I would joke with you before skating in front of the judges to put you at ease, and hopefully take away some of the nervousness that you always felt before we took the floor.  You were a beautiful skater, and when the M. S. took over, it was hard for me to watch you unable to balance and fall, just from walking.  Why God, did it have to be Debra?  She had made it through so many other health problems, why the M. S.?  Why the cancer?  She wasn't a bad person, she had a huge heart.  She gave me so many chances to clean my act up, and stop the drinking.  Why her? And to have been divorced by her third husband who was the love of her life, why?  He couldn't just hang with here sickness anymore?  So he cut and ran?  I know her sisters must have been around her when she died, they were all very close.  I know she was not alone.  Did she see angels when you came to take her, God?