Two years ago I felt a dagger through my heart as my best friend told me her mother had just committed suicide. My lips shrivelled into nothingness and my veins curdled for I felt like the blood from my heart no longer wanted to circulate through my body. I felt cold.
I watched as the one person who meant the world to me had her present stripped away and her future dictated to her. I watched as she bent down to pick up the ashes of the memories she had so carefully woven and worn in her unkempt hair and blow them away into the breeze just so she could feel a little lighter. I watched as she stepped foot into what had been her home for the past thirteen years only to pack up what was left of her present and walk away into a life she never thought she'd be faced by. I watched, crying bitterly from shadows and corners, as she strapped on her shoes and left her world behind.
I found myself alone with thoughts of a beautiful woman who had inspired me since the day I walked into her life. A woman who was thrown into the face of danger and who emerged from it independent and victorious. A woman who was happy and welcoming and who could conjure pasta with a blink of an eye. That woman left without leaving a trace. Without realising that there were several handfuls of people who loved her. Who wanted her. Her. Who wanted her alive.
Her daughter has grown now into a woman even more magnificent than she ever was. She is a spitting image of her mother and a product of the ordeals she has had to face. And I imagine how proud she would've been. I want to open the vents in my lungs and scream at the spirits that hang in the air around me and tell her that it WAS NOT okay. I want her to know that she could've been there for so much more, and that together we could've wiped our tears and found new smiles. I want her to know that life is a bitch but life is beatiful in its misery, that it takes courage and compassion to see it, that I know that she had it in her to live that life. I want her to know that she was selfish. That although she did what she did, she is still loved through the anger, tears and indignation. But from now on, anger and love will always go hand in hand. That even though we think we've forgiven her, we never truly will. I want her to know that she is missing more than we are.
I watched as the one person who meant the world to me had her present stripped away and her future dictated to her. I watched as she bent down to pick up the ashes of the memories she had so carefully woven and worn in her unkempt hair and blow them away into the breeze just so she could feel a little lighter. I watched as she stepped foot into what had been her home for the past thirteen years only to pack up what was left of her present and walk away into a life she never thought she'd be faced by. I watched, crying bitterly from shadows and corners, as she strapped on her shoes and left her world behind.
I found myself alone with thoughts of a beautiful woman who had inspired me since the day I walked into her life. A woman who was thrown into the face of danger and who emerged from it independent and victorious. A woman who was happy and welcoming and who could conjure pasta with a blink of an eye. That woman left without leaving a trace. Without realising that there were several handfuls of people who loved her. Who wanted her. Her. Who wanted her alive.
Her daughter has grown now into a woman even more magnificent than she ever was. She is a spitting image of her mother and a product of the ordeals she has had to face. And I imagine how proud she would've been. I want to open the vents in my lungs and scream at the spirits that hang in the air around me and tell her that it WAS NOT okay. I want her to know that she could've been there for so much more, and that together we could've wiped our tears and found new smiles. I want her to know that life is a bitch but life is beatiful in its misery, that it takes courage and compassion to see it, that I know that she had it in her to live that life. I want her to know that she was selfish. That although she did what she did, she is still loved through the anger, tears and indignation. But from now on, anger and love will always go hand in hand. That even though we think we've forgiven her, we never truly will. I want her to know that she is missing more than we are.
No comments:
Post a Comment