Life is a series of tragedies...

The days and nights directly after the accident are a completely blur to me. All I remember is people swarming my house wanting to show their sympathy. There were people I've never seen before of my mother's friends and even my friends from years ago showed up. It was a strange time. That time would've been happy if not for the circumstances. I can just imagine my mother going into her host mode that suits her so well. I can imagine my father, as the night wore on, getting  more and more exhausted and the sure signs that this was not his cup of tea appearing. I can imagine my feeling of contentment, knowing that life couldn't get any better. But there is this funny thing about imagination, it creates a world that can only exist in one's fantasies. Instead it was a much different scene. My mother had women surrounding her doing the things that mom normally would've never have let them do. Her role of host was torn down and the only thing she knew how to do was to let others love on her. My father had given up all shreds of superficial conversation and all things demanded by our society as considered "polite". He had abandoned trying to make small talk and holed up in his room until everyone eventually left, which turned out to be days after. I remember my aunt and uncle were sitting on the couch laughing at a joke my aunt made and my father turned and looked at me with tears in his eyes, "How can they be laughing? Laughing!" as he returned to his room. And finally me...the feeling of contentment had long deserted me and left me feeling utter despair. I didn't know what to do or how to feel but one thing was for certain, I felt alone and scared. The ironic thing about that was I was never alone. My friends rotated sleeping over every night so I wouldn't have to sleep alone. They would be there when I woke up sobbing in the middle of the night to just hold me. But even through all that, the feeling of being alone was so very present. In those days and nights life could not get any worse. I went from being on top of the world to barely even wanting to be part of the world. The other day I went with my adventure gym class to Lapham Peak. Lapham Peak is the place Patrick and I spent hours training for our birkie, so it held many memories for me. "It's hard knowing that the last time I was here...I was happy," I told my friend. "You're not happy now?" The answer came easily, "No."

 My cousin, last week, said something that stuck with me..."Life is just a series of tragedies, and joy is what you feel in between them." I guess I just have to hold on until I am able to feel joy again, however long that might be.