Living on the edge….

 

 

I do a pretty damn good job of functioning on a daily basis, if I do say so myself.  I head to work everyday.  I laugh.   I have fun.

And I keep myself busy.

The alternative to busy-ness is to replay Molly’s life and death over again and again in my mind.  And within the replays are recurring pauses: was her suicide my fault?  Could I have done anything differently?  Am I a good person?  Was I a good parent? 

Endless.

A brief visit to the edge of boredom is a prayer.  A moment of connection.  But beyond that moment is a burning anguish that cannot be quenched and surely has the power to consume me.

I will not be consumed.  Not today.