Crying Heart

It is quite a world where someone you love passes on and from there forth a week goes by so quickly

But does not a death lie ahead of us like a cancer living deep within our systems?

We strive each day to inhale and exhale living life

As death creeps in and steals the breath of another

I believe in Everlasting Life

And yet, I fear death

Since last year my family has suffered much a loss

We are not alone in this

As Billy Joel sings “Only the Good Die Young”

But what is young?

“Youth is wasted on the young”

To hear stories of people in their hundreds doing what the young only wish they could accomplish

Is there really a number on young and old?

As we all live

Shall we die?

And who will remember us?

For we are all just a ripple in a pond bigger than any ocean

A pond filled with life

A simplistic beauty that some are rarely able to catch sight of

For what is terminal, but a word that defines us all

No one will make it out alive

And yet, with our Lord and Savior we are promised a better tomorrow in some place so very far from here

This temporary home can only give us a taste of life

We live, we flourish, and we try to take it all in

But I believe that no bucket list can completely be fulfilled

For us humans…

We always want more and are never satisfied

To be completely satisfied would give us no need for Heaven

We would have no reason to pray or to believe in anything but the materialism that can surely be swept away

With the most recent passing of my Great-Aunt Brenda…

We have all been reminded that tomorrow is not promised

Even for all of the knowledge that Brenda held within her mind

She was not spared from death

But I believe she is dancing now and reunited with those that she loved who went on to Eternity before her

Sixty-One is a young age

But I consider eighty to be young as well

This death, like poison, stings and it hits hard

So many lost to cancer

So many lost to things that we could never really begin to understand

And there is no determining this time

We can only control the dash which falls between the years

I feel as though I am a waste of that dash

I feel like a failure and a nothing

Yet to the Lord, I am someone special

As I pick my cross up daily and walk through all of the hatred that surrounds me at times

I am humbled because I know that this suffering is not all for nothing

Granted it hurts so much

A heart that beats within feels as if it is about to break in two

The “what ifs” “should haves” and all of the other bullshit lines which we fill ourselves up on are what brings us ever closer to our demise

Who are we to expect more?

To think that we could change the inevitable or to slow it down?

We choke down medicine

We work out

We study

We labor

We worry

We surrender

And for it all to end in dust

“Dust in the Wind”

I want the above song played at my funeral.

So many people will come to spit on my grave

It will finally be over

So then, who will you throw your dirty looks at?

Who will you compare your dollar bills to, to the one who falls and scrapes daily?

A human punching bag; gone.

Will this ease your mind?

Will you sleep better?

Will you come to my funeral and pretend that you gave a damn?

When in full reality, we both know that you never gave a shit to start

Can you bear your soul like this?

Admit for once in your pitiful life that you are human, too?

Admit it…

Dammit…

Admit that you breathe and you fall and you fail and you fear the inevitable as much as I do!

We are not so much different as one would think

Lies separate and manipulate us

They tear at our very souls and shame on us for allowing them to do so!

I am not nor will I ever be perfect

But I am brutally honest

To my dying breath I will speak the truth which is laid on my heart

And I know my psycho babble is a joke to you all

But I guess that I can be as cruel as you

If need be

You are the family that walked by at the funeral

You are the people that walked by at the funeral and acted as though we were not sitting there

We were hurting, too

Did this even occur to you?

Your jealousy, your hate, your lies, your money which has burned you more than once

I am not always such a kind writer

Am I hitting a nerve?

Is this damn microphone on?

As I stand for all of the Underdogs (which you have so generously deemed us)

I stand for the weirdoes, the nerds, the outcasts, the weak, the depressed, the anxious, the medicated; those who have therapists…psychiatrists…have seen the inside of the psych ward

Our lives are not pretty

Our days are not always great

But we rise

We rise to face another day

We rise to prove to our haters that they will never win

For, even in death, we will rise

We will shine

Are you ready?

Hang on tight

Because what comes next is a journey that only promises to be better…

By,

   Tiffany Simar

   4/23/19