Sometimes, you say the wrong thing.
Sometimes, you hear the wrong words.
Sometimes, you see what is not there.
Sometimes, all the things you didn’t do come back to haunt you.
Sometimes, all the things you did do come back to haunt you.
My dad died when he was 52. He was strong and vibrant and I barely remember him. I remember a smile sometimes. Other times I wonder if I honestly remember. Or just remember what I want to remember.
He never grew old. He never grew frail. He never got weak. He never faded.
The mommy, for reasons they are trying very hard to figure out, has faded. She is sitting in this odd no mans land where words are jumbled and she can’t remember to swallow. This grey area where she knows there is something wrong, and she thinks I can fix it. This hard and horrible place where she wants her mommy. Much like we all do, when shit gets really bad.
I don’t know which is worse. The maybe a memory or the memory of old.
Sometimes, all the things you said and did and didn’t do come back to haunt you.
Sometimes, you take it out on people who don’t really know you. Or know how broken you can be, when it gets hard and you are tired.
Sometimes, all you can do is sit with someone. And let them talk the broken away. Whether it be the broken ‘misremembered’ words. Or their broken self. Everyone should have someone that will sit with them.
Sometimes – we forget what matters. And then Grace reminds us.
Sometimes, Grace is all that sits with you.
Sometime, Grace gets you up and moving and functioning. It keeps you moving when the tired gets you.
There but for the Grace go I.