Wednesday, June 22, 2011

An Unfortunate Milestone

                I might have moved closer to reality.  The air of my existence doesn't feel stale as often as it used to.  The last time I felt that way was just before Dad received the phone call about that plane crash.  Before that, he kept asking me to talk to him, to tell him what was wrong.  I could only repeat each time that I did not know, that I could give no hints.
                This man is dead.  And we are left behind.  Alive for now, still present in existence.  I do not feel lucky.  I feel how fragile my body is.  I imagine that if I died in a plane crash, I would think "Well, this is it.  I messed up," and everything would go black.  This is how it happens in video games.  This is how it happens in my dreams.
                I wonder if my body might be left behind, or if it would vanish in the flames.  I feel terrible for wondering about that.
                 My father was just talking to him, asking "Isn't that dangerous?  To fly your own plane?"
                "Not at all!" This man had replied.
                My dad keeps marveling at that.
                Those children will never grow up to be as old as I am.  Their father, if he's around or even alive, will only go to one child's high school graduation, if he's lucky.  That poor child.  Everyone wants him to survive, but the cost is so heavy, because he will either wake up to a lie or a crippling reality.
                I can barely fathom the anger that father must be feeling towards his girlfriend, and towards her boyfriend.
                I do not normally cry about death.  I have cried about Pompeii.  I have cried about death in general.  I cry for myself most of the time, self-centered, pathetic creature that I am.  I have cried about these people, though.  Several times.  Because it is absolutely horrible.  And on father's day, I finally cried about how glad I was that they had caught Dad's cancer in time, back in October or November.  I hate that it took me so long to appreciate that fact, and I know it had little to do with shock.  But I want to cry, thinking about it again.
                And that makes me think that I might be becoming a better person.  I want to reach out.  I want to go outside. 
                I do not want to waste my time, his time, anyone's time.  I do not want to make mistakes that cost lives, and I know I am more than capable of it.  I do not want to waste my life.  Now to make an attempt at breaking the cycle, the glass walls I built around myself.