A survival tip is to simply not write down that which bothers you. At least, not at this age. In earlier times it may have been acceptable to dwell on every single piece of pain, but there's not enough time left to worry about such things.
Each day can be its own thing, and memories of happy times radiate best when there's no expectation they'll ever happen again. The anticipation of not knowing is best left simmering in the air, smoke still emanating from a distant source of heat.
Best to just appreciate the conditions that made this possible and not to ponder how they might be replicated. The experience still shines bright, lighting the way into the future. It may be just enough.
Now time to waltz into the future to whatever beat I choose, whatever steps I might want to take. I cannot control much of this life, but I can swim along in the driving current and try my best to remain safe.
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Perhaps I could find a journal that told me of the weekend of July 15, 2017. I'm going through pictures on my phone to archive them. I like to close up these posts with an image, and I thought I would search back at the archive. I do not talk to my children often and there is a huge hole in my soul. I take full responsibility for this and the story is what the story is.
But I remember that year having a family member arrive unexpectedly and a decision was made for them for my children to not be here. Yet, on this occasion, they were. Where did the family member go?
This is a small detail and not of consequence, but these pictures tell a story. I will not post any of them because they are no longer my children but I will state I am no longer sad. The hole has repaired and people in the future will determine how I am to be perceived.
As for me, I choose to no longer write down the painful. I'll choose to be the me I've always been.
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| Where do you put it all? |
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