I Want To Be Melissa Rivers’ Sister

One day or another

I turn myself inwards, hiding from the world.

I don’t want to go out and make small talk, my friends don’t feel like real friends tonight and

blood, it turns out, happens to be thicker than water, even when blood types are opposite.

The news on television is too scary to watch and I take on too much of it.

That’s when I have to force myself to extricate my sensitive soul and feel alright

snuggling under the blankets for a day, maybe two, listening to music or trying to name my new pink pig stuffed animal, stroking her soft cotton skin.

Imagine a soul without a name. What shall I call her? Suggestions?

The sun is setting earlier and earlier, things are the same but they are not.

I see a very long Winter ahead of us, I don’t even have the energy to groan.

I can’t blame it on Fibromyalgia either. I won’t.

My birthday month is on, even early, I don ‘t care about getting older, I still love birthdays and I am not vain.

Wrinkles are graciously earned, gray hair are few but I don’t hide them anyway. I am the warrior that they present, I earned them.

My children are now adults perfectly able to take care of themselves without us, both a blessing and a curse. I still miss them as I see mothers posting their first and second graders first day back to school pictures, excited grins and new outfits.

I think we have done well in parenting them, we are both so proud of them, we shine.

Suicide, brain tumor,  starving herself, no will to live, and now Joan Rivers? I don’t know but now I wish I could be Melissa’s sister

so she has somebody with her, to support her.

Nothing is fair, deep down, I still expect them to be at the end.

That’s the very immature part of me that won’t grow up. I can’t seem to learn this lesson even as it presents itself over and over again. Why? Why CAN’T I learn this?

I too, would wait for my mom to wake up, cracking a joke. But, my mom would NOT want to be brain-dead, that I know.

We all deal with pain, grief, discomfort, sadness and people really DON’T reach out to give a hand, I think that is what shocks me the most.

No one makes the time, they have themselves to consider first, last and in-between.

I am not sure who I am anymore, who I’ve become.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m disappointing myself, maybe I have become one of them too.

Nothing would surprise me anymore.

Nothing does.

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7 thoughts on “I Want To Be Melissa Rivers’ Sister

  1. Wow, I feel you, big time!!! I don’t know who I am anymore either or where I fit in, in the world! You are singing my song girl, and it’s not a nice feeling. My boys are grown and gone too, still have a 13yr old daughter that is living with her dad full time now and doesn’t like me most of the time and looks at me like her dad does, not understanding fibro etc and like a get it together kind of look! I want to slap that look too off of people’s faces!!! My friends have fallen away and I have a few good ones that have stuck around. I am grateful for them. But you are right, people don’t reach out or make the time of day for anybody anymore. When I check in with people here and there, it’s always, ‘I’m really busy”… B.S.!! They don’t have time for me. I feel so alone so much of the time. It sucks! Hugs xoxo

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    • I do believe that all the horror that is happening is alerting the world that we are all connected and need to be unified in eradicating evil & ignorance. Unfortunately we humans are still motivated by pain and fear in order to change. The greater the pain and fear the greater the motivation. Happiness and contentment unfortunately result in trying to maintain the status quo.

      I do believe that unity and good will come from all this inhumanity. I also believe that I will not see it in my lifetime here on earth.

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  2. I like to think that perhaps life is fair but our human criteria are limited by our human perception. However, no matter how hard I try I find it very difficult not to be human . . .
    Guess we’ll have to just hang in there Peachy to someday “know”.
    xxxxxx j
    P.S. I like your admission that you don’t know who you are anymore, who you’ve become – me too.

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