A girl who lived down the street from me posted that her mother is dying. She posted a pic of her mother and father "what a beautiful love story they had". Now I didn't know her mom really because she was usually incapacitated in her room - some combo of substance abuses and anxiety but I knew her dad. If I brought him coffee in the morning he wouldn't make me do detention for being late. And from what I knew then he loved her but I'd hardly call it a beautiful love story. But granted I didn't know that much about them. But my stepmother? Going on and o about how perfectly matched she and my father were as if she wasn't bitching about hin the day before he died to me.
I just can't do what these people do - I loved Gideon an he loved me. We may in fact have been a love for the ages. Eventually. In time. But it doesn't change the fact that in an effort to protect myself I couldn't see all the overtures he made toward trying to get me to reconsider an actual life together. Nor does it erase that he was too much of a coward and self absorbed to say what he meant or to stay here. Or maybe those things aren't exactly true either. But what is true is that it wasn't perfect and we weren't totally I sync al the time and that doesn't change how crazy strong our bond was
The same goes for my father. He never had the time for me. And I knew he was going to die even though he died of an accident and I didn't do enough. And and and. But we were still so connected and I still feel completely alone because I have no connections like those two left here.
So I don't understand the pretending that happens after death. But maybe I could be happier if I could tell myself all these little lies that seem to be staples of other people's existence.
No comments:
Post a Comment