Friday, February 24, 2006


Yesterday, while still sulking over my pancake, I ventured through other blogs in an attempt to re-route my mind.

I stumble upon this woman who has blogged her experiences and emotional traumas through the time since her husband committed suicide.

And my insignificance settled in... my pancake became a spec in the universe.

This woman, I'll call her "Chris"... expresses pain that makes even pages bleed. Her husband, who was blind, stepped out of the house one evening and shot himself in the head. She ran to find him after hearing the gunshot... and there he was, his skull and brains covering the snow he laid on.
My eyes welled up, as I read on through her unfathomable nightmare. She shared the last day she'd ever see her husband. The mortician pulled him from the cold, steel drawer... she laid on his lifeless chest, whispered to him "wait for me", then she kissed his icy blue lips, and even the mortician cried. She described the day she received his ashes... there she sat, alone, with a plastic bag on her lap... wondering what her life meant now. Then Chris talked about her suffering and her literal physical pain... and the saddest part of her story is that this happened four years ago. She still lives in this agony, this unimaginable aching after four years... she's lost her soul mate, the boy she'd know since she was 13. My god.

Makes me stop...

and think.


Post a Comment

<< Home