At Julie's inevitable funeral.

My dear friend Julie is a tragedy. That has already happened. But it could get worse. Ending in her death. By accident.  A fall. A traffic crash. Or from a lethal dose of alcohol. If that happens, I’ll feel remorse and a little guilt. For not finding a way to save Julie. From herself. But there likely will be heavier guilt. On those closer to Julie. A spouse, perhaps. Or other close relatives. The ones that have the wherewithal to force Julie into treatment. For alcohol addiction. It's my opinion. Julie is mentally ill. Grossly incompetent. Unable to make rational decisions. I try to tell Julie the truth. Often. I try the power of persuasion. Pleading endlessly. For Julie to check herself in. Voluntarily. But to no avail. Now I am aiming my desperate pleas. At those with the authority. To force Julie into treatment. Over her protests. Believe me, I say, it’s the right thing to do. For Julie's sake. Anyway, I’ll give us all a stark reminder. At Julie’s inevitable funeral. --Jim Broede