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I'm not quite understanding.
I realize that I should.
But I don't. I do. But I don't want to.
Life is unfair. Everyone knows this.
My friend Margaret has just had a stroke. She's old. Around seventy-nine, maybe eighty-nine. I don't remember which. She is a beautiful woman, and despite the fact that she couldn't walk without her walker she holds the heart of someone in their youth. When I lived in California she was the woman that I walked her dog for, but she meant more to me than my employer. She was my friend, one of my best, including her family and care takers, Edith, Kathy, and everyone else.
She didn't die. But she's still weak. She's currently going through physical training to help her get stronger again.
I can't imagine her suddenly having a stroke in the middle of the night. I haven't cried in over two years, but I'm crying right now. I didn't even cry at my aunt's funeral, or when I heard about my uncle getting in a car crash. Does this make me a horrible person? I hate crying. I'm crying like a little baby.
First my brother was being blind with his girl friend. Then my other brother got a divorse with his wife, something that ever sense they had been married I already knew would never last. Then my uncle got in that car crash, and if it hadn't been for the man who had witnessed the event my uncle would have been dead within a minute. They say it's a miracle that he's alive. His arm is stiff to where he can't even more it, and he walks with a limp. Then my Aunt Linda had a stroke. They took her off of some of her medication to see if it would help her and then she died. The stroke was so horrible that it left her... mentally disabled. When I came it was hard to believe it. She'd been so happy and upbeat, and then when I came down to visit her I was so shocked. Her skin was dried, she couldn't move, her eyes were glazed over as if she was in some other world, and she couldn't even speak. This was how bad the damage was. She couldn't even look at you. All that she could do was sit there and stare out into space while someone wiped away the drool that built up on her chin and cheeks. She began to get rashes from not being able to get air to her skin because she couldn't move on the hospital bed. And then she died. I feel that she was... freed, I guess. No person should have to live like that.
And now Margaret has had a stroke. I've thought about before that she's old and her time is coming near, but the pain is still jagged and unbelievable. I read once in a book that the more people that you lose the greater the pain gets instead of you getting immune to it. I wish that this wasn't true. Even though Margaret isn't gone, I'm still....
All that I can do is pray and write back to Edith, who takes care of her. I wrote my letter as soon as I received the one that gave me the news. Since I don't know where the envelopes are I stuck the letter in my grandmother's bible. I don't know what page or what book it's in now, but I put it in the part of the bible that talks about Jesus coming back from the dead, the famous resurrection. I put it there... as sort of... a symbol I guess. I want Margaret to get better. So the letter is there as like... the stroke is sort of the death of Jesus, and then the recovery is for Jesus coming back to life. I put it there in hopes of it somehow helping her.
Sorry if I type ill-literately in the forums. My wrists and hands feel floppy and heavy. Not a real excuse. I won't be ill-literate again.
Everything in this entry sounds corny. But I don't really care. I'm still crying and I can't even get myself to smile just a little. Crying like a baby.
 MythicalYoko · Tue Aug 22, 2006 @ 01:08am · 6 Comments |
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