Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Thirty-Eight Years Old

It's my first birthday tomorrow without my father, without his voice on the phone wishing me happy birthday.
Recent cancer deaths, as my friend T. and I were discussing on the phone last night, have left me bereft and too sad to watch the news, read the paper....I thought about families yesterday, on That Day, the day when the person finally leaves you, and how hard that day is. Then I thought about how impossible it would be to have to share it with millions of others.
I wish them all strength.
And R.I.P. has become yet another abhorrent colloquialism that I depise. It's acronym "rip" as in, their life ripped away from you, their spirit torn from this world to the next. It has nothing to do with peace to me. I like, "go in peace" or the ever un-PC "go with God".

Sure it's a birthday. But like the Irish proverb says--you must get through a year and a day. Every day. Your birthday, their birthday, every holiday and anniversary.

Go on, in peace.

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