Nothing good gets away. And isn't that such a relief...I hope you had a pleasant day yesterday and are having one today. My yesterday wasn't bad actually. Good, even. It began with a wonderful message from you. But just a little while ago I put my arms around Adam and cried and didn't let go for more than hour.
It's startling and even profoundly jarring how suddenly feelings of such fear and crushing defeat can sneak up on me; how small and alone I can feel in this painfully short and so quickly passing lifetime.
Sometimes life is nothing but a blur. Sometimes I think I'm predisposed to my father's eventual hopeless and fundamentally relenting inclination.
(Or worse even, my mother's living fear of being simply alone with herself.)
I often wonder if other children of parental suicides suspect themselves to be on an eventual similar path, if their fragile and broken bodies tighten and tense up as they approach each new year's birthday...inching closer to the final age of their dead mother or father. Is my fate predestined? Is yours? Is ours? My dad was 38 when he decided life had nothing left to offer him. And perhaps he was right and it didn't. At nearly the age of 31, I'm quite sure life isn't done with me yet.
Falling in such awe-inspiring love with you is unmistakable proof of that; even the sheer existence of you alone, I suspect.
Life is challenging me. I must push myself to rise to it. Again and again.
Thank you for your effect on me, the way you inspire me to write. I feel my heart beats easier when I do, my body and all its functions restored to a healthy balance. Everything in sync.
I miss you always.