When something bad happens, you have three choices: let it define you, let it destroy you, or let it strengthen you.
The heart of the difference is not ability or even talent, but desire
The purpose of life is to discover and develop your gift. The meaning of life comes from sharing your gift with others. - David Viscott
Friday, January 20, 2006
Nothing about running
I was driving today, dragging my kids to help me volunteer. My teen is a typical porcupine, not talking much and not expressing any happiness in spending time away from his bed and TV/couch combo. But he still respects me enough to comply. I look at him and I tell him I love him…and he shrugs his shoulders…and the pain overwhelms me. Today is 1 year 4 days as my nephew was killed in a car accident. 1 year as we laid him to rest. He was 24. There could be much said about relative’s death, but he is no simple relative. Being only 10 years younger, he was my brother. Being the whole 10 years younger, he was like my first-born child. My sister had one last year to finish her master, and Michael came to live with us since he was 3 weeks old. I changed his diapers (cloth, mind you), I washed it and ironed it, I took him for walks in a stroller (and turned him a few times escaping bad road judgment), I dropped him on the floor, I played with him, fed him, woke up at night, cleaned his poop, saw his first steps and heard his first words…A year later he went back to his parents, but the bond was made. My sister is my soul mate, she was same to me when I was growing up. My mother, my mentor, my best friend…that doesn’t say much good about our parents, but such is life, and we are not too close to parents, nor did we ever felt loved. Been as close as we are, she and I visited numerous times, and when her marriage came to an end, she came to live with us. Michael was 11, my older son was 1. Same 10 years…He (Michael) took it rough, the divorce and all those changes. He shut down. For my sister he was the only reason to live…but every time she tried to kiss him or tell him how much she loved him, he’d only shrug his shoulders and turn his head away…
I don’t know how she survived that horrific telephone call, because I still remember how I didn’t…scream, hysteria, stupor…flight to Moscow…tears, tears, tears…funeral. There are two moments I do remember from that trip. How she stood there, at his coffin, and said: now I can kiss you all I want and you wouldn’t turn your head…too bad it won’t last long. And another, as his body was lowered, there was no scream, no tears, just an outstretched arm…as if she could stop it, just hold on to it for a second longer…
I am really sorry, folks. It just hurts. So much. I was hoping if I put it in writing, I’d be able to read it over and think straight about it. I don’t know. I envy all of those who believe in life beyond life. I have to reserve to memory and tears.
Well, that’s it. I got it out. Our kids, our growing pain…our only love.
I’ll be back…life goes on, as weird as it sometimes seems.