Sometimes conversations are a leap of faith. Closing the eyes and jumping into a discussion that seemingly has no clear conclusion. This could end badly just by starting. And yet. Yet, we must have them.
My sister sighed and started the talk with the words “this is long overdue…” Her words were wise and strong and there was no hint of a weakness that can only come when your entire world falls apart (or, as she asked me, what the fukc happened to my life?!). I admire her strength to hit shame in the face, to knock it down and stomp on by. Who cares what theythink? They who come from twenty thousand Ivy Leagues under reality and introduce themselves by institution matriculation – Harvard. Princeton. Dartmouth. Good for her for looking reality in the eye and telling it like it really is.
My friend has yet to start his conversation. The one that begins with begging, “honey, do you really need that ninth drink?” I don’t envy him. The bottle has become the beacon his girl is drawn to every single day. She wakes to a drink. She drives with a drink. She goes to bed holding a drink. I am constantly reminded of one of my favorite DMB songs “Grace is Gone.” That one drink to remember, another to forget. That begging, excuse me please one more drink and I’ll move on…Only, it’s never one more drink.
Then. Then there’s my conversation. In my head I’ve started it a thousand and one times. A thousand and two if you count just now – just a second ago. How do I begin? Where do I begin? I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to kick you when you’re down. I’m embarrassed for me, myself and moi because somehow we’ve lost something. Something that use to mean something to you. Only, I don’t know what it was and and now it’s impossible to retrieve. Is it because I’m damaged goods? Has my shelf life expired? Is it because I’m fragile? Broken to the brittle bone? Are you scared of me? The lyrics to “My Skin” churn in my heart. How did we get here?
Necessary words. For all of us. Grant me the strength.