The meaning of life came to me in a slow moment of panic. I finally figured out what’s important. The only thing that really matters.
You need someone to care about. And who cares about you. You need someone to worry about, and who worries about you. You need someone to look after when they get sick, as they would look after you when you get sick. You need someone to share your life with. Just having yourself is not enough.
The people you used to care about, worry about, share your life with are gone now. They come to you in dreams, and in that surreal other world you have your life back, only to wake up in the same void of reality. It becomes hard then to get up and face the day without them, without any of them, not one.
There are bloggers out there who despise me for my pitiful — and to them, pitiable — posts about loss and loneliness. One posted a nasty poem about me “bemoaning my fate… boo hoo…” She erased it right after but not before I had read it.
She writes constantly and voluminously about her love for God, and I think what really set her off was when I lamented the continuing absence and silence of God in answer or non-answer to my prayerful entreaties for help. It’s funny how some of the nastiest comments I get are from so-called Christians, who tell me in most unchristian terms what they think of me. She pitied me in my “godless universe” and told me to drown my “sorrow in another glass of wine.”
First of all, let me set the record straight: I do not drink wine — I drink gin and rum and bourbon, so please, madam, do not add insult to injury.
Secondly, take your self-righteous sanctity and shove it.
