I read a very sad story earlier tonight. It was about a woman who lost her very dear sister-in-law about a week ago, and then this afternoon… a very good friend of hers died. Two deaths of people she loved… pretty much in the space of eight days or so.
Of course I was very sad for her. As I read her story, my heart hurt for her… and what she was going through.
Later on… perhaps a few hours after reading and sharing her hurt… it hit me. Not hard… because in a way… nothing hits me hard. But… then again, just about everything hits me hard.
I seem to have this sharpness and numbness in me… at the very same time. Not sure what that means. If I were to try and put it into words… I would call it some sort of a “terminal aching.” It just always hurts.
But… reflecting on those two deaths… sure, there was all that hurt she felt. But you cannot hurt unless you have someone whom you love in the first place… to lose. Looking at it that way… how wonderfully fortunate this woman was… that she had known these two people… two women that she loved so dearly for so very long.
I live in a cave. I feel I really don’t have any friends… or at least none that I could really count on if the sky started falling, or if all hell broke loose. I have a few people who I feel “closer” to… and sure, if I called them, or stopped over to see them, eventually I would be told how they “loved me.”
I wonder what it is like to have friends. What is it like to have people who truly love you, who truly care about you, and really make sure you KNOW that they do ? I don”t know. I used to know, and I think I can still remember. It was very long ago.
The last time I felt loved… really loved… was in the late 1970’s. I was married then. I loved being married. But my “dearly beloved’s” fifteen-month affair that I accidentally found out about… ended all of that. I haven’t felt whole… since.
I know a lot of that is my fault. I could be “stronger.” I can even admit that I probably “should”… be stronger. It is so much easier being stronger for others. I wonder where I was the day they taught the class on learning how to “care” for myself ?
I have a daughter. She is 38. She lives perhaps fifty minutes away. It’s funny what ones “perspective” does to things. Those same forty-five miles or so… is just a short ride for me to make.
The time goes by so quickly when I drive to meet my daughter. Funny how those same forty-five miles can seem like such a long journey when my daughter looks at them. She has her own life… she tells me. And yes, I’m sure she does.
I turned 67 this past February. Don’t know how much time I have left.
Really don’t much care. Not that I would do anything to hasten that “final day…” but if someone told me that tomorrow was going to be my final day… I would probably sleep in… maybe go out for a nice lunch… prolly have blackened catfish… then come home, watch a replay of “The Good Wife” on TV, make sure Mollie T, my kittie, had plenty of food and water… and then go to bed early.
I don’t think I will ever again know what having anyone really care about me will be like.
Right now it is about 2:45am. I was already getting ready for bed… and then thought about writing this. I first thought that I’d go to sleep… since I was already climbing into bed… but I decided to write this… anyway. I knew that if I left it until I got up tomorrow… the feelings would be all fuzzy, and this would be nowhere near as authentically “me” as it would be if I wrote it now.