A Matter of Life and Death

Maybe this is what it does to you, even what it is supposed to do. I read my other friends' blogs, and realized that we are all in the same frame of mind, though none of us had discussed it much lately. Things begin, and things end.

There is so much that has begun in my life, I have, at moments, forgotten that the world has kept spinning for everyone else. But at dinner last night we talked about it, or hinted about it, if only for a few minutes. What would we leave when we're gone? There isn't a chance to clean the house and edit diaries before death. It usually sneaks in, leaving messes in its wake.

We talked about someone we'd gone to high school with, and how her life had disintegrated from a straight-laced, Christian school girl to what she is now-homeless in the past, addicted to drugs. What turns does someone's life have to take to turn them into this, and how close are the rest of this with enough missteps? How would we want to rewrite the journal pages?

It has taken me days to complete even one thought on this post. Why? I kept hoping something would happen that would resolve the story, that would tie a neat bow on the events of the last week and turn it into something bittersweet. It didn't happen. Instead, my best friend is across town when I wish I could walk down the street with her to our favorite hole in the wall bar. Instead, I am reminded of the time a classmate's mother passed away, and the entire sophomore class sat in black in the church pews- 16 and not understanding what this girl's life would be like without her mom. Now I watch a friend go through the same thing, compounded this time by having to make decisions and take charge of things as if it is supposed to be easy or make sense. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. There was supposed to be more time.

Sky and I sat on the curb outside of our house, and watched the strobe lights of lightening flash over our heads. A car, a bike with a headlight, or a couple talking about movies would pass by. I tried to exhale as forcefully as I could, but it didn't matter. Sometimes this is the way life is. Sometimes, there isn't a match to light journals on fire and start with a clean slate. There are times when life simply is, and the goal is to make it past that into calm and happiness again.

In the meantime, I keep writing.