Confessions

Sorrow has overflowed my soul…Bare with me as I journal my grief…I’m trying to find healing…I’m trying to find hope…

Welcome to my mind.

Find my previous entry here: #102: A Picture Worth a Thousand Words

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“You could’ve been there more.”

A familiar voice echoed through the darkness…

“You should’ve visited more often…”

My apartment was cascaded in the shadows of the late evening hours, yet the voice speaking to me seemed to fill the void. It was loud.

Screaming…almost.

“He only wanted you to call.”

My eyes shot open. Rarely did I ever find myself sleepless, but there I was…wide awake and anguished over these accusations.

“What do you mean, ‘I could’ve been there more?”

“Simply that. You could’ve been present more often…Called, visited, texted. You could’ve…Should’ve, actually.”

“Now, you know that wasn’t possi…”

“Careful.”

“Careful of what?”

“Making claims you know you can’t back up. You know you should’ve…You took him for granted…Now he’s dead.”

“Shut up.”

“Real mature.”

“You’re one to speak of maturity. Fine. I’ll humor you…Let’s backtrack shall we?”

“Let’s.”

“July 4th weekend: I spent the entire weekend with them both…Saw Dollywood, mowed their yard, helped Papa pick up sticks.”

“Good for you.”

“I’m not finished.”

“My apologies…”

“August was spent working and planning for orientation. September through Mid-November I was traveling for work…I barely even saw my own reflection, let alone my family or friends…”

“Fair enough. Spent plenty of time with me, though.”

“Not by my own choice……Thanksgiving they went to Missouri…Christmas has always been spent up North with Mom and Dad. He got sick early Fall and by the time I had a chance to see him I got a cold for 3 months.”

“And?”

“You know full well…He couldn’t be around anyone that had the slightest cough, let alone a full blown cold…I tried, but guess what?”

“What…”

“I was told I couldn’t see him…And before I knew it, it was mid-Spring, I was back on the road, and I couldn’t find the time to break away. I tried…I tried…I tried. Almost a full year had passed. Do you understand how much I hate myself for it?”

Silence.

“That’s what I thought. Do you remember the time I flew back from Florida, drove 8 hours round trip in one day just to see him? Didn’t even get home until 2am and turned around to drive to Maryland the next day. Don’t even hit me with this ‘You didn’t even care’ BS.”

Silence.

“Nothing to say? You were full of it five minutes ago.”

“You’ve made your point.”

“Good…Let me sleep.”

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Is it safe to say that I’m bitter towards time? How much life stole from me those final months? Am I angry when I think that a meager cold kept me from spending time with one of my best friends in his dying months?

Am I just weak?

Regardless of how “out of control” I was, the thought still haunts me.

“You could’ve been there more.”

I should’ve been there more.

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