I can very vividly recall times in the past when I felt
overwhelmed or depressed or upset. I can remember feeling as if life had become sort of pointless—walking around and suddenly being struck with
the thought: “How did I get here? Why am I doing this? What is this all for?”
“Is this my life?”
In the past, I’m sure I called my mom. I’m sure I called my
mom and just sighed in her ear or complained about something someone said or
did. And maybe she said something to make me feel better…and maybe she didn’t.
But I still called and she still answered.
You don’t realize—even when you’re feeling your worst—that it
always gets better. And before you go thinking that this is a positive post,
let me add: it always gets better until somebody essential to you dies.
And then it doesn’t, really. It doesn’t ever get as good as
it could, because she’s never going to pick up the phone again. Be it good news
or bad, she won’t ever be there to receive it with joy or brush it off with
wisdom ever again.
And is this my life?
