This Is Us

The Mom is hurting.

The Sister’s organs are bursting.

The girlfriend is drowning.

And the dog is limping.

33,

And this is me;

This is them;

This is us. 

I am okay. I am alright. It’s everyone else who is breaking. 

I can’t save them. I can’t. It’s all out of my control. People get old. Dog’s get old . . . People have their own past. Some day we’ll have to let go of the things that made up our home. 

        Today, I can tell them I love them. I can support them. I can tell them I am sorry for being so absent during the last decade. I can hold them. I can try to be better. But . . . I will probably just do this and hope they notice . . . 

             Writers can’t explain their feelings simply. No, we have to type it out and turn it into something else. Writers can’t ask for help. Writers can hardly help in any practical way. I am okay. I am okay. It’s everyone else who is bleeding . . .

I’ve been so focused on living before I die, I’ve forgotten everyone else also dies. Everyone we love dies some day. It all changes in an instant. And we keep swimming. 

To all the women I’ve ever known, I am sorry. I’d like to blame my father but I am my own man these days. I am responsible now. I am sorry. There was something broken inside of me. Actually, everything was broken. But, I am okay now. I can be there for you. I can show up. I can try. I don’t want to hide. I want to help. I want to give. I am so sorry . . .

I can’t tell you about it, so, I’ll write about it, put it in an empty whiskey bottle, set it sailing in the pacific, and hope y’all find it . . . 

I am grateful for all of you. I am grateful for everything. I can’t show it; I can’t even know it, but I know who I should be. 

I am here if you need anything. I can try. I won’t always be high . . . I won’t always be drunk . . . I won’t always be this focused . . . I won’t always be this selfish. I bet I will show up some day . . . But, how many more days do we have together? 

I am sorry. I’ve been broken for so long. I’ve been scared of losing you guys. Here it is, an appropriate awakening. Do I hit the snooze or change into a different person? 

. . .

. . . . Whiskey hits the bottom of my cup and splashes into my eyes. I am blind. I am almost buzzed. Will I ever tell you this when I am sober and busy? We’ll see . . . We’ll see. Hopefully . . . Hopefully . . . Hopefully someday I can be the man everyone wants me to be . . .

In the meantime, if y'all could please heal, so I don't have to deal with losing something I lose . . . that would be great.

I am sorry.

CH 8/6/26