I feel like it is so unfair that I am still alive, when the best mother and friend that I know is not. So most days I feel like John Coffee in the Green Mile; a huge, over grown blubbering black man, begging to be put out of his misery. “They kill’s um with they kindness, boss.”
I can identify with that completely. I seem to alternate between that, and pretty much being a cynical ass. My poor family!
On my good days I am able to do things for people. Just little things like getting a guy who has locked his key’s in his car a hanger, or giving a person a lift to the gas station, or bringing a car load of food to a friend who needs it more than me.
It drives my husband nuts, but I remain convinced that he would do the same if given the opportunity. It is because he fears for my life and doesn’t wish to come home from a hard day at work to find me chopped up in the living room, that he gets annoyed.
Anyway it seems to validate that I am still alive and that I do still matter, even if it is just to do some random acts of kindness.
I don’t write as frequently as I should. Mostly because things are much the same, we do the day to day rituals that make time go by so quickly at times, also I am afraid of being a little crazy. As though by losing someone close to me I have somehow fragmented my soul , and am as a broken glass waiting for the right moment to leak and surprise some unsuspecting drinker.
Emotions have a way of finding your mind unaware and planning a sneak attack cry day, unbeknownst to you. It is amazing the stupid lines that a mind will draw in order to make sense of unimaginable loss.
I guess I best make the most of this life. It’s the only one I have.
