Your life is never the same, you know. They don’t talk about that when they give you the “this is what you should expect” speech. They tell you about the scar you’ll have, and the drugs you’ll take, and the things you will and won’t be allowed to do. But they make it sound like you’ll heal, and then everything will pretty much fall back into place. That little awkward bit about what has to happen in order for your own little private miracle to occur? That never gets mentioned.
Yeah, I’m still on about anniversaries. “All her life has she has looked away… to the past, to the horizon. Never her mind on where she is.” I know, a paraphrase, and poor one at best. But I don’t think there are many quotes out there that describe exactly how heavy a weight survival can be.
Sounds ungrateful, doesn’t it? That, of course, simply wraps another layer of guilt around me. Guilt I lived. Guilt someone else died. Guilt that there isn’t gratitude enough to make it feel right.
That’s just some days, of course. I do know the counter arguments. The boy’s death was not my fault, and my survival gave some meaning to an otherwise meaningless tragedy. I hope it feels that way to his mother, here on the second anniversary of her son burning to death. I hope her dreams are better than I suspect mine will be tonight.
Nope. They don’t warn you about this part at all.