Last week the recycling truck ran into my mailbox and broke it. But this week, I lost two people. One, is emotionally broken, but believes she is always right. I watched this one grow up, so it was hard when I tried to help, and was told where to go, when I refused to validate the destructive behavior. The other, is a friend from childhood, who I first met in kindergarten. He disappeared periodically, and so when he did that again, it wasn't too concerning. But he's now dying of liver failure. In each case, the behavior is self-destructive, and the soul beneath is unchanging and unreachable. So now I feel old, numb and helpless. Each year brings more memories of people who have left. It's not as easy to fix as a mailbox.
The thoughts of a writer.
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