The one thing that I have held onto since my ejection from the bubble was the fact that even though I didn't like what happened to me..(at all, I might add) I do believe that things do happen for a reason. The issue is that sometimes I don't have a clue what the reason is..but I kind of had a brain alert today.
When Reid died, I remember vaguely a couple that lived down the street coming to visit..they brought a book to me about Children and Grief. Their own son was stabbed at a party, and they had to go through the torture of court dates and trials. (Something I thank God I was spared). The book became my lifeline..I kept it and read it over and over again. I guess I thought if I read it enough, perhaps I would understand the reason why my dear Reid was no longer telling me "Did you see me do a back flip?" when he actually didn't. I think.
When the Mayor put me through the torture of being homeless, going through divorce, stretching things out to be difficult and mean, I hung on to the fact that everyone kept telling me it would get better. Although I didn't believe them, really. I'd walk Kitty until neither of us could move, and once again drove everyone crazy needing reassurance that things would get better.
And slowly, things did.
I didn't feel like the monster from the Black lagoon was grabbing me by the neck every time I thought of Reid. I could listen to the High School band that he played the tuba in without having to go home and crawl into bed. I could see his friends and not die inside. I could drive down the street where I used to live without the fear of seeing the Mayor. I could pull into my friend Pam's' driveway without hiding my car in the garage.
And then, something else started to happen. I could actually help other people.
When my dear Pam lost her wonderful daughter, I was there. I knew how I could help. We could sit and cry, and talk, and really didn't care who saw. I got it. And from our grief, we developed a friendship that I truly treasure.
When the Gibson family lost a father, a husband, a brother, and a son, I could be there. I could give the book that meant so much to me to them.
When I have had friends and co-workers go through divorces that have been painful and devastating, I could be there for them. I could listen, and let them know that even through I STILL feel that time is a four letter word, it does help heal.
If Reid hadn't died...if the Mayor hadn't decided that my usefulness was over, I never would have been in a place where I was a small help to others in a small way. And that, in some small way, is the gift of my pain.
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