every day
I slept, I had coffee, and somewhere in between all the sleeping and caffeine the things I wanted to say stopped making sense. I hate it when that happens.
I thought I'd throw a bunch of statistics up, but meh, that's boring. Then I thought I'd rage at a government that did nothing, is still doing nothing, while people die and pharmaceutical companies make scillions of dollars...but, well, some days I just don't have the energy for moral outrage and today was one of those days.
I know, I know.
I was sorting it all out along with Volkswagen-sized piles of underwear, socks, and towels when the phone rang. I was thrilled with this development because A) it meant I could stop weeding through the underwear, and B) it meant I could stop pondering the overwhelming.
I tossed Mr. Lemony's Hanes back into the abyss of cotton and wool and dashed for the phone, fully expecting to hear Lemony's Mother venting her spleen about the management hacks at her place of employment. Imagine my surprise when instead of:
"Frickin'frackin'fuckin'HACK'bastard!"
I got:
"In ten days, when you do whatever it is you do to muddle along, will you take me to muddle along with you?"
And just like that it's no longer about statistics or moral outrage.
It's about him.
It's about the enormous hole left in my world that nobody will ever be able to fill.
It's about W, who traded everything else he ever loved and didn't get nearly enough time in return.
It's about S, who is so much like him and desperate for any little piece I can bear to share.
It's something that's far more tangible than a statistic and yet far more difficult to convey.
He was here. He was loved. He is missed. And that's what today - what every day - is about.
I thought I'd throw a bunch of statistics up, but meh, that's boring. Then I thought I'd rage at a government that did nothing, is still doing nothing, while people die and pharmaceutical companies make scillions of dollars...but, well, some days I just don't have the energy for moral outrage and today was one of those days.
I know, I know.
I was sorting it all out along with Volkswagen-sized piles of underwear, socks, and towels when the phone rang. I was thrilled with this development because A) it meant I could stop weeding through the underwear, and B) it meant I could stop pondering the overwhelming.
I tossed Mr. Lemony's Hanes back into the abyss of cotton and wool and dashed for the phone, fully expecting to hear Lemony's Mother venting her spleen about the management hacks at her place of employment. Imagine my surprise when instead of:
"Frickin'frackin'fuckin'HACK'bastard!"
I got:
"In ten days, when you do whatever it is you do to muddle along, will you take me to muddle along with you?"
And just like that it's no longer about statistics or moral outrage.
It's about him.
It's about the enormous hole left in my world that nobody will ever be able to fill.
It's about W, who traded everything else he ever loved and didn't get nearly enough time in return.
It's about S, who is so much like him and desperate for any little piece I can bear to share.
It's something that's far more tangible than a statistic and yet far more difficult to convey.
He was here. He was loved. He is missed. And that's what today - what every day - is about.
4 Comments:
(((Lemony)))
You know where to find us if you need us.
He was here and you know what else? You've brought him to life for a lot of people that never would have otherwise known. Thanks for that, babe.
*mwah*
Hmm...if I might be so bold as to offer a teensy correction...
He is here. He is loved. And, of course, he is missed.
Suddenly I'm feeling woefully inadequate, both in my ability to express my thoughts and feelings and in some other, far more nebulous sense.
Giant love...a heart-full.
xoxo
I agree with cdr...
You have brought him to life for so many people.
You are beautiful.
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