I can’t stop this business of making myself cry daily.
I should say, I don’t want to stop it.
I don’t want to be hardened and
tough and resilient and bounce back
to what’s next for me.
I can’t see what’s next, I can
only see backward.
And backward has all the
memories and the sweet pain of my
sad, sad story. Sadder today than it was when
it happened, because I control the edit, the focus and the resolution.
A parent shouldn’t outlive their children, isn’t that what
they say? I keep seeing things, all kinds of things, and I think, “I
just bought that—for Sharon.” A person shouldn’t be outlived
by a frozen pizza or some bag of
crappy burritos or tater tots. A person, for God’s sake, wrapped up and hauled away to be
disposed of.
How could I have been so cruel, not to treasure her, whatever
her condition, for her essence? I was blinded by my own self-pity and forgot everything that
was important in life, if I ever knew it to begin with.
I’m crying for her not being here, but is it for me that I
do this? Am I trying to convince myself I’m a good person who misses
his wife? Am I trying to cement my role as
the sufferer in this world, so I can
opt out of everything else?
I feel lost and unmotivated, except to cry.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.