said the 17-year-old cashier, "I wish I were dead 'cause I don't want to hafta worry about doing anything after high school."
[Since the suicide it seems like every conversation is about dying.]
Here's where i turn into a grandparent,
"You're life is a gift. You're healthy, young gorgeous. You can use all your limbs. You're lucky. Man, working here doesn't seem that bad. My first job, I was paid $3.15 an hour to bathe old people, feed them, give them their medications..."
What I wanted to say was you can't think that now when you have everything youth has to offer. You have no right to think that. You're perfect. You don't even have acne. All the while I'm thinking about my grandmother one of the strongest and meanest women I've ever known who as a result of a stroke has lost the ability to use the right side of her body and can't get out the words she wants to say. Then I turn my thoughts to me. I'm not curing cancer, just weeding the garden, watering the lawn, what the hell do I know about what we should be doing or have a clue about what we're supposed to be doing. I'm just thinking I hope I can have a conversation with my grandmother again instead of pretending to be strong and encouraging all the time.
It just when you hate hearing, "you ought to" or "you should from someone" that you may not get to hear exactly what use to drive you crazy. But the annoying chatter is what is known to us. What-else can fill the space besides, shoulda, woulda, couldas? If we never heard it again nothing could take the place of wise council we thought we didn't need but don't get the benefit of any longer.
So you run the scripts your self. "What you ought to do is just send them a nice card so they know you're thinking about them." But what to write? "I hope the devastating pain you're in doesn't destroy you. Sorry for the vast ocean of distance that has grown between us. I hope you can visit soon.
Posted by Donna Hickey at July 10, 2005 01:04 PM