Today, though, I am struggling. It's not that I don't have anything to say, but that what I do have to say is really not suited for this venue.
My day presented me with news of a death in my family followed by a perky little jaunt to the mall and, finally, a surreal visit with my mother-in-law, a woman currently knee deep in the battle against lung cancer. At this hour, I am left a bit empty, to say the least.
What I'd LIKE to say is about the delicateness of life and death. The relativity between the two. The older I get, the more I believe the line that separates the two is not a sharp black line of permanent ink, but a soft line sketched in pencil, jagged and imperfect.
I'd like to write that I see gaps in the line. Places, times, conditions that force people into this twisted, non-life state. Your car sits in the driveway for weeks on end, untouched by your presence. Your world become small and tight. Little things, like a trip to Walmart, become large. Until the gap in the line around you finally closes in.
What I'd LIKE to write about is how a person can leave this life and immediately, that tiny existence their days had become, is immediately free to breathe again.
What I'd LIKE to say is how odd and selfish it feels to watch your child ride the dollar carousel, coo at puppies in a store, and play on a playground while others are dealing with death and disease. And how easy life would be if you could just stay there.
I'd really like to write all about how families need to grow up and put differences aside, whatever they think they have to lose, when they approach the line. Because NOTHING is worth that much.
I'd love to write all about the good in people and how, when you're near that sloppy line, the good shines through them like the morning sun through the bedroom window. But, if you're not there in the room, you'll never see it and feel its warmth.
It would tickle me pink to write all about hurt feelings. And wounded egos. And alterior motives. And greed. And competition. And how none of those things matter on the other side.
And, I'd love to write about forgiveness. Forgiveness is the hand we hold as we cross the line, even though we leave this life alone.
But, this is not the place for that. And so, I'll close my browser and head off in search of a pen and paper.
And that, my dear readers, is why NaBloPoMo can be a struggle.
I wish I could say something more profound here. All I can say is....wow and you are so right. About it all.
ReplyDeleteHang in there.....through the tough times.
And never feel guilty about enjoying your child.
Your post reminded me of the last months of my father's life. I clearly remember pushing him in a wheel chair down the hallway at the hospital on the way to chemotherapy. Everyone who saw him looked away. In their eyes, he was already gone. Imagine having someone look at you that way!
ReplyDelete{hugs} and prayers
ReplyDelete