Here's to life - with all its struggles and all its rewards!
Here's to my mom - who gave me life, who never gave up, and who knew that life was beautiful, but in no way easy.
"The generosity of her love made me sad at times - knowing that I had always felt safe in my bed at night, and she hadn't, simply made me sad. There's a sadness in the beauty of a spirit managing to flourish despite barren ground. It was a gift I knew I could never repay, but believing that children continue their parent's unfinished work, she assured me that living the fullest, happiest life I possibly could was all the pay back she needed."
Here's to the man me and my dog found in Payson Park, on this same date last year.
"Done with a difficult life, he had killed himself and lay dreamless and cold the same time the earth was coming alive, the same time Brook Trout were starting to run in nearby streams, and Trout Lilies were making their splendid appearance.
I tried to imagine the gait of a man who feels he's all out of choices - who feels everything is wrong, and there's nowhere to go but on a walk that fades to black. Did he march toward intention with the goose-steps of a soldier boldly facing the unknown? Or did he hesitate - stepping blindly on tentative night-feet while clenching a shotgun close to hip so no one would see?"
* excerpts from two short stories I wrote entitled "NOTICE THE LITTLE THINGS" and "STOLON SPRING."
1 comment:
I was wondering if you'd brought image to memory of finding that man.
How awful to come upon him. This is what has kept me alive, among other things: someone has to find you there, where you took your last breath, which more than likely should not have been even close to the last, if there was some other way through.
I have known of people taking their lives. My first landlord did, but his wife found him before I did, in the basement, hanging. I know I would have been traumatized, and yet also wish he hadn't been there like that for her to see. Was this a kind of lethally passive aggression on his part, I wondered. Did his depression want to take her down too?
I also saved my mother from taking her life, which I've never regretted, except in the sense of realizing that each life belongs primarily to itself.
But Mom's still here, age 80. Having spent a life, my whole life, primarily in psychiatric hospitals.
I feel for your mom and her lack of happiness in her own bed.
And I'm especially glad you were safe in yours. A safe bed is something that is often overlooked in one's prayers.
L'Chaim!
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