a rough day. Professionally. You try and try, you work and work….and find yourself attacked. It hurts, it angers, it makes you wonder if it is worth it at all….
I have a dear friend who lost her son to heroin three Christmas’ ago. He had been fighting addiction for years — good kid, good family, bad drug, terrible ending. Tonight she posted on facebook that she received a gift from a friend to attend a medium’s performance today. Posted a picture of her and her 3 friends, all mothers of lost children, smiling, you could see the hope in their eyes.
And I realized, once again, how blessed and lucky I am. Today I saw all three of my kids. Hugged and spoke with all 7 of my grandchildren. Saw my kids with their chosen partners, in love.
But for the grace…you know the rest. I get to hold my children, all three of them. Love them, argue with them, buy them things, make them things. cook for them. My friend visits the grave, fights the good fight, works to make a difference for other families. Mourns and misses her son every minute of every day.
I really hope she heard from Ty through the medium. I hope he told her he was fine, living the good life on the other side, clean and clear headed, watching his siblings and his dog and her and his dad fight the war on drugs. I really hope she had the sensation of a warm hug from her son. One more time.
Tonight I saw a picture of my dad, probably taken in or around 1995 or 96. Arm around his sister, cigarette dangling from his fingers, tatoos still clear and proud. damn I miss him. That smile, that laugh, those eyes that never, well almost never, lost their sparkle. He loved life, loved the people around him, loved to be doing something, almost anything. this man could make sitting at the tides edge, digging for shells and fiddler crabs a whole day’s adventure.
I hope my kids remember their dad and I the way I remember dad. Always present, always caring, always mine.
March is tough on me. March 9 years ago my world fell apart. But, its nine years ago. things are better — so much better. there is no tangible, recognizable remnant of the hell that time represented in our lives. and yet, March rolls around and I tense up. My stomach hurts, my anxiety rears its head and I worry. I call way too often, stretch for reasons to check in….consider medication…or a strong martini….
Will it ever end? How long does this veil stay over the joy that Spring should bring?