"How are you doing?"
Mostly that's a social question,
has no meaning
Ça va? Ça va, it goes along
It passes, so do I.
Some times though, they mean the question.
There are days the answer is the same.
It goes. It passes. Things
are moving along.
Things always do, you know.
Harder are abusive fools, demanding
Asking solely to insist a happy
answer, extortion of a sort. I
tell them the full truth on demand.
Having my children die still tears me apart.
But worst are the petty and jealous.
I'd gladly give them my pain if I could.
Somehow they think my status is a blessing they deserved,
not I. They covet something they cannot understand.
Their resentment festers.
I hope they have their wish and get my pain.
Forever and ever and ever. Even longer.
I've had the loss and pain long enough
and enough so long. I'd gladly give it away.
They are welcome to it.
I've had the pain long enough, and enough pain so long
They are welcome to it, I think they are right
in claiming to deserve it. I hope their spite and
greed and envy are answered.
That they can have the pain: forever and ever and ever.
I wrote this when I encountered people who either seemed determined to extort a "my day is great" out of me, or people at church who seemed to feel that they deserved to have something that created attention happen to them and really resented the tragedy we had because it brought some small measure of attention.
I rather do not like attention anyway, and the real bitterness and bile of people like that really got to me. I would gladly change places with them, my pain to them, my children back. They can have the five minutes of attention I got from the Stake President when he tried to badger my wife into agreeing that she was fully recovered less than two weeks after the second funeral. I'd gladly trade it to have my children back.
|[adrr.com (mediation)]||[Ethesis]||[Surviving Loss]||[©1996-1998 Stephen R. Marsh All Rights Reserved]||[e-mail]|