disappointed

I can recall vividly the first time I relegated disappointment to memory.  I had lost my first tooth and my grandaddy gave me a dollar.  It was 1976.  I spent the dollar in his real estate office buying a 16 ounce glass bottle of Tab cola.  Was there ever a child more disappointed with a dollar spent?

I am 39 now.  My disappointments reach deeper.  Sometimes I don't even intend to be disappointed but it just crawls up upon me.

My dearest friend and confidante died.  We have planned her memorial for a month.  And yet there are still those in our family who cannot carve out enough time to celebrate her life, her passing and those who are left behind.  I am saddened.  Almost sickened.

I realize that my bond was with Gran was unusual.  I understand that not everyone felt the same way about her that I did... but I also recognize that she left three grieving daughters and a heartsick husband.  Where is the love?

Is it really about how quickly we can dispense with this?  How readily we can dismiss this person, their contributions, their legacy?  Was she so disposable?

Of course, who are memorials really for?  The living.  The widowed.  The heartbroken.  Are they so readily dispensed as well?

I find I am angry.  I cannot fathom why someone cannot give a weekend to grieve, to share, to console.

I am bitter.

I am outraged.

Perhaps I am too close, too connected, too protective.

Or maybe too frightened... here was a saint among women.  And her own kin begrudge her a decent farewell.  Then what of my life?  Who to mourn me?  What will I leave behind?  Greedy children and a u-Haul truck?

A beautiful life has passed before us.  Her lessons are myriad.  Her gifts enumerable.  What is more important than raising a glass in honor of a life well lived?

Hurt.  Beyond all else, I am hurt.

And fearful.

Careful, careful how you tread... you never know where your foot might fall and who would be there to catch you.  Or not.