Today is my parents' birthdays. Bth the same day, two years apart. He would have been 89, she would have been 87.
He beamed up when he was 70(too soon.....but its always too soon, no matter the age)
She was killed in a fire three years ago. They told me she didn't suffer. I'm glad. That's good. It's also an indescribably horrible, dreadful thing to happen. Yes, I know there are many lingering and painful ways to die; that's not the point.
Perhaps it's selfish? After all, it's I who am in pain, suffering....the sheer horror of the image of her tiny 4' 11" frame lying for almost two weeks, in the morgue, waiting for the autopsy. Took a long time to get *that* image out of my head, and as is obvious, it still returns.
And being estranged - my choice, my decision, necessity - for two yeSrs before that, and the police arriving at 7am on the Saturday morning( it happened at 3am on the Saturday morning; so, she died on Shabbat. I've read that that makes a difference. That helps me, a little)to tell me.....and seeing it on the tv news.....surreal, as though it was someone else.
And now widowed.
Life hurts, a lot. I'm fortunate to have some very good friends who support and care about me. I get comfort from my religion, and music, and reading, and writing. I love my cats, who ask for so little, yet give me so much.
And so it goes, as Kurt Vonnegut( I think) said.....