…make lemonade, is how the cliché goes. Well, I say spit on the lemons. I’m exhausted from the clichés: time heals all wounds, God never gives you more than you can handle, and the best yet is maybe this happened for a reason. What reason would there be to have all my worldly shit and four cats burn up?
I’ve heard all of these things over the past 4 ½ months. Balderdash, is what I say. (That’s a fancy term for bullshit, in case one wonders.) Time will never help me get over all of the pictures, yearbooks, and other momentos that define my past that I lost in that raging fire. God gave me WAY more than I can handle, but my psychiatrist gave me the drugs to deal with it. And the only reason I can see for the fire is that we got a bitchin’ new house … so God wants me to be materialistic? I think not.
See, this is where I’ve been stuck for awhile I guess. I am trying like hell to enjoy this brand new sterile house. I truly love it; it has everything I’ve ever wanted in a house; a big kitchen island, an exotic master bathroom, and a big huge basement to store all of our slowly accumulating shit in. We have plenty of love to make the house a home, and we have collected a menagerie of pets (two cats and one bunny) to share our space with.
But what we lack is history. We have no proof of our existence before January 29, 2009. I have a few things that were at school, like my high school wrestling cheerleading pillow, letter, and show choir album to help me remember my youth. But EVERYTHING else is gone, and I’ve yet to cry about it. I see my shrink at the end of this month, on the fifth-month anniversary of the fire. He will say that externally I am well: sleeping right, eating right, and concentrating on life’s tasks. But will he notice that a part of me died in that fire?
Has anybody noticed that my heart seems hardened to this tragedy? Will anybody care that we are all still hurting, in spite of the beautiful new house and its furnishings?
Pass me the rum, think I’ll make me some rum punch with that lemonade.
No comments:
Post a Comment