. . . And just you try making lemonade with rotten lemons!
Was watching a tv show last night where this boy gets reunited with his mom after 18 years, having not seen her since he was just a toddler. And I thought what a sweet moment that was, and how it gives one hope. And then it hit me: I'm never going to see my mom. Like, ever. And that hit me pretty hard indeed. See, there won't be any tearful reunions. No "sorry I missed out on most of your life, son." I will never have that. Ever. My life won't resemble a Lifetime movie, or a Hallmark card. My mom is gone from me forever.
Now, sure, I've known this all along. But something about that moment, watching it happen on the tv screen, just brought it all home at once in a way that twenty-seven years of mourning have not. I mean, it struck me with such clarity and force that -- HOLY SHIT! I will *never* be with my mom again. I think somehow, some way, deep down inside . . . I think I actually had this feeling like I would see her someday. Like this nightmare would one day end and all would be well again. I would have my mom back, and this lifelong empty hole of loneliness inside me would somehow fill up and make me whole.
But, nuh-uh. Not happening, buddy. This is life. What, you thought it would have a happy ending? Fuck that shit!
Needless to say, I don't believe in heaven and angels and harps 'n' clouds and all that bullshit. I do believe that none of us on this Earth have even the foggiest real notion of what happens to us after we die. So, with that in mind, perhaps there is still a chance I will be reunited with my loved ones someday. Because, who's to say that I won't be, right? I sincerely doubt it, though. Something tells me that what you see is what you get with this life we have to live. So, I guess the message is: make the best of it when you can, while you can. This Earth is meant for living life to the fullest and getting the most out of such a corporeal, tactile existence.
Because we might not know what happens next, but it damn sure won't be like this.