Skin and bones and voice kinda day...

I knew not what the day would bring as I held my breath in anticipation...of discourse in the afternoon.

But during the day, I found patience and the presence of being. Small talk about small things. Music, loud and free. Good Food, nice scenery. Thank you.

It's not so much guilt. It is loss, and hopelessness, and just trying to understand why I'm just so jacked up about it all. Why now? And did I give you the chance to live, Bubba, or did I kill you too soon? And Daddy? Why didn't I give you the chance to make the decisions? I would have saved me a lot of hell. But you stood there so forlorn; perhaps I thought I was saving you from it. And then you took over the burial, thank god.

I am tired of weeping. I only want to understand.