LINK: you found me
Does your life have a soundtrack? Which song?
Prompt snagged from: ian m dudley
I’d have to say it’s the song, You Found Me by The Fray.
Lost and insecure
You found me, you found me
Lying on the floor
Where were you, where were you?
In the deep corners of my soul, abandonment lingers like an uninvited guest. Its roots tangled deep from a lifetime of farewells.
I was five years old when my paternal grandfather passed away from a myocardial infarction (heart attack). I never met my paternal grandmother at all. She passed before I was born. From there, the losses kept coming, one after another, teaching me early on just how fragile and fleeting life can be.
When I seek guidance, I’m met with silence.
When I crave reassurance, distance grows.
When I finally dare to believe in something or someone, it arrives too late to mend what’s already broken.
The cruel irony is that when I hope… I feel the most vulnerable. Experience has conditioned me to expect disappointment. People make promises and say what they mean in the moment but are unable to execute or deliver their promises. People are people-ing and I can’t be mad about it.
I’m constantly searching for meaning, asking questions that can make people feel uncomfortable. I ask my atheist friends why they pray when things fall apart. Is it out of habit? Desperation? They’ve got nothing to lose since everything else has failed? I ask because I want to know where people turn when nothing answers back.
I remember when my father died, my brother asked me to speak with the pastor about whether cremation would be acceptable. I hesitated even asking the question. The pastor seemed momentarily taken aback. I knew the Bible didn’t explicitly forbid cremation, but in the middle of grief, logic seems to go out the window. I was concerned that I would be doing the wrong thing, of somehow sending my father into damnation. The pastor reassured me that cremation was acceptable within our faith (we grew up being United Methodist, then Presbyterian, then Baptist).
I compartmentalize. I pack things away so I can deal with what’s immediately in front of me and I keep going. I’ll tell myself that I’ll come back to it later. Sometimes later comes. Sometimes it doesn’t. It’s just how it goes, I suppose.
I’ve lived in multiple cities and states, reinvented myself more times than I can count. Each version of me was shaped out of necessity, the result of choices I’ve made, or life events that have occurred. I’ve learned how to be resilient, self-reliant and composed. Outwardly, I appear steady and strong. Inwardly… well that’s another story.
You found me, you found me…
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