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I was born with congestive heart failure, did you know that? The fourth chamber of my heart wasn’t formed and I almost died. They kept me in the hospital waiting until I was strong enough for surgery and people were praying for me around the clock, so I’ve been told. Then, one day, yep…you guessed it…a miracle. My heart healed on its own. The fourth chamber is weaker than the others. I had to have tests done every six months until I was five, and wear an ID bracelet until I was 19. If you catch my mom in the right mood, she’ll still cry telling the story. I also gave it the old college try myself when I was seventeen, but alas, I never could cut a straight line.

My point? That’s twice. Twice that I cheated death, twice that I was allowed to stay here instead of move on to wherever it is we go. As grateful as you’re currently thinking I should be, what you’re ignoring is the pressure that can put on a girl. You know, to do something great, be something great. I thought I was on the right track for a while there, but here we are and surprise, surprise, I’m not and I haven’t.

What a waste.

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You know those days when you wake up and the sky is ominous and you have this sense of dread, like you should just get your butt right back under the covers and stay there? Well, today was not one of those days. It started out as a fine day. Truth be told, the sky was a little gray but I’m a fan of gray so it was fine by me.

Once at work I find out that this fella I work with’s little dog was attacked and murdered by a larger dog. He was there, saw the whole thing, tried to fight the other dog off…it was bad. And he is truly the nicest male I’ve ever met. Like, consistently nice, kind, respectful, just a class act all the way, you know.

About an hour into that, I get a call from my husband and his step-dad, my father-in-law has passed away. This is sad news in and of itself. Phil, but we called him Pops, was also a class act. Would give you the shirt off his back and not think a thing of it, always made me feel welcome, just good ‘ole people. Add to this, my hysterical sister (she’s my sisiter-in-law but I call her my sister because she’s more my sister than any of theirs) and you’ve got yourself some pretty messed up shit. She’s 18, I mean, I’ve heard her be dramatic. This.Was.Not.That. Have you ever heard someone’s heart break? Like, heard it rip in two and fall from their mouth in choking sobs? Well, trust me. You don’t want to. Ever.

My husband and I just got back home from going over to his mom’s house. It’s pretty bad over there. Just memories of Pops everywhere you look; his jacket draped over the chair, the eagles and military memorabilia he collected still on prominent display, little pieces of him reminding you that he’s not there. My sister, I just don’t know. She looked like a zombie. She’d been crying all day, but still. Just staring into space, nodding when spoken to. It’s not like her. It’s not good. So now I’m here, writing all of this on my iPad because I just don’t feel like getting my laptop out but want to get these words out of me before they swell up like wedding rice inside a bird and make me burst:

It’s not fair. Why does bad shit happen to good people? Why does just the most vile, despicable stuff happen to people (and baby puppies) who didn’t do one damn thing to deserve it? Do you hear me, God? We’re all about transparency now, right? All about everyone having to know the reason for every freaking thing, so I want a reason for that. Anytime now would be great. I’ll wait.

September 25, 2012
In Memory of Cookie Davis and Phillip Bosland

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