The Battle

My cousin A didn't make it to my aunt's yesterday. He was supposed to come to lunch and stay the afternoon. He'd been sober a week. I'm proud of him for the week he did do. But the heartache I felt when I heard he wouldn't make it was so familiar. I'm tired and sad and ready to go home. I haven't heard from S either and am trying not to worry. It's too soon yet to worry about him. And this visit has given me plenty to worry about, like A's son who's just 10 and sweet as pie, and my father living alone here. I want him out east with me, though after four intense days with him, I am ready to get back to my life where I don't feel the need to explain my man, my job and my finances. Aw, but he means well and just cares deeply. I try my best to live a good life. Don't we all?

Saying goodbye to my father breaks my heart and his, every single time. I've learned to handle it and the grief only lasts a short while. But I think Dad's heartache has never left him. I want him out east with me. I want to not worry about him, perhaps give him a little company and happiness. He and S are so much alike. I suppose that's part of what attracted me to S in the first place. I do feel the need to help S in the way that I was never able to help my father.

In these moments of grief, I wonder, like my father does, what is the meaning of it all? The rest of the time my usual optimism prevents me from asking that which I will never understand.