Heavy on my mind

It seems sometimes, that questioning is not aloud. That if you ask something, the wrong way, people automatically assume things about you that arent true. I, for one, ask questions. A lot. To myself mostly. For above reasons. I cant assume things about myself, because I already know what I mean. The problem comes when I can answer back. Not when I answer back. Because sometimes I don’t have the answers.

And sometimes that’s all I need, is answers.

I wonder sometimes why me.

I know I have said it before, but I don’t mean “Why me” in that sense. I mean “Why me” in the sense that, why am I still here? Why me? In that way.

Almost a year ago now, one of my best friends passed away. And with his passing, he left a family. He left a wife, four kids, siblings, and a father who had just lost his wife months previous. Its not like he had a choice in his death – given the chance to live Im sure he would have chosen it, he loved his family. He loved life. He was that kind of person. The kind that always seem to get taken.

And I wondered that day, and still continue to wonder today – why NOT me?

Why have I survived the deaths of so many family members? Why have I had to see my wife and daughter die? And why couldn’t I have gone with them, because at that moment – there was nothing for me to live for. No one. So why was I still there? Why am I still here?

People say “The kids” I say a few things that you probably don’t want to hear, and wont say hear due to rating, and other nonsense.

The kids didn’t NEED me.

The kids HAD their parents.

And then they didn’t.

And again I wonder – out of all of us, why am I still here??

I don’t talk about it much, cant, talk about it much – because when I do I get handed a bag of mixed things that I don’t like to go through, and so I just leave it at that. In the past.

But I used to wonder what I would tell Josh, if he ever asked “What about MY mom. What about MY dad?”

What would I tell him?

How. Would I tell him.

What would I hold out. What would I add?

Obviously he is too young to remember his mom, and the memories of his dad are things that if he has forgotten, I prefer to leave that way, so what – what would I tell him?

I don’t think he will ever ask, because he has grown up this way for so long, that I don’t think it really has ever occurred to him, assuming he could ask, TO ask.

But Dylan used to ask me it all the time. “Why doesn’t so-and-so live with THEIR uncle?”

He remembers bits and pieces of his mom and dad, but not nearly as much as Madi. He used to be confused why he lived here, and not with them. He knew they were gone, and what had happened – but he still didn’t really understand WHY he was here.

And why his friend didn’t live with his uncle. But instead parents.

Josh is the age now that Dylan was.

And a lot of things have been flooding my mind lately.

Why am I here? Why do I have the kids? The usual questions that make their rounds every so often.

I don’t mean to say that I am going to let them go, because Im not. I don’t mean to say that I will take drastic measures to take myself out of this world, because I wont. And Im tired of telling people that. I just wonder sometimes…why do “Good people” get taken, and just how “Good” do I have to be?

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