What does it mean to live? Think about this. It’s really a simple question. The answer should be equally simple too. What does the word “Live” mean? What else could it mean other than to have a life, to be alive, or adversely, to not be dead.
But what does it mean to die? It has been argued by me on several occasions that we die in many ways. We experience death while living alive—and some people live lifelessly, always following, always wishing they were someone, somewhere, or someplace else. What kind of life is that?
The news came and I could not move. Time took on a strange appeal. I was frozen somehow, moving in slow motion, but yet, time was quickly ticking away from me.
I was young at the time. I was only 17 years-old but stunted in a way—like a child, or more accurately, I was stunned and child-like, almost like an infant’s pause before the pain strikes and the cry begins.
It was December and I was away in a place that was very foreign to me. I was on The Farm in lieu of jail, which would have been a sentence of one year, plus 90 days.
This meant I would have to serve close to one year in a place where I could neither physically nor mentally compete. I pulled a trick though. Or should I say my attorney pulled a trick. He landed me in a program called T.A.S.K. which was an acronym for something that helps young, first-time offenders with a youthful offender stipulation that would eventually falls from the records of past.
It is morning now.
The weather has been rainy but for the time being
the rain has paused
but the sky is still covered in the cloth of gray clouds.
This is what happens . . .
First, the accident or the incident, whichever the case may be, then comes the response, followed by the afterthought and the things we wished we said. Has this ever happen to you?
Ever have something occur and then you walk away wishing you said something else?
You wished you came out on top in a conversation, yet instead, you felt vulnerable or foolish, is if someone was able to pull a fast one right before your eyes—and you just stood there and let this happen.
Today is Sunday May 12, 2019. Mother’s Day:
The rain has been falling all night. I know this because I was awake and listening to the teams of your raindrop armies falling on the roof of my house and scattering like a thousand foot soldiers that run away after landing from the sky.
It is morning now, however, and light has come through the clouds but with no sunshine to greet the day.
Maybe this is right—the rain, I mean, and the slowness of the morning, the gray skies, and the quiet dreariness of a windless, rainy morning is fitting for now.
I wanted to explain this to you in a different way. My hope is this will bring you some comfort during the upcoming days,
I am writing this to you to bring a little understanding about depressive thinking and the unending cycle that comes with it.
I wanted to reach out to you specifically to explain a bit more about me so that maybe you will understand a bit more about you and the things you’ve faced in your past.
First and foremost, please allow me to officially explain that you are far from alone. There are millions of us out there, lost, unsure, uncomfortable, and unable to see a light at the end of the tunnel.
Before going forward, please understand that I make no assumptions about you or your pain; however, I am offering this explanation to make sense of one of the most senseless kind of deaths known to man,
There are words we use that only apply in the grown-up world. These are big words with big meanings.
To a kid, however, their vocabulary is different. They understand play, laugh, fun, and they do things like have sleep-overs and build tents out of blankets.
Little girls skip rope or maybe play with their dolls and have tea parties (if that’s their thing.) To a kid, their life is still so new. At least, it is supposed to be. They are young. They’re our children.
Beautiful as ever. They are pure to the core, learning, and blossoming into this world and about to partake in this thing we call life.