Last Monday, Dr. Sexson quoted the above passage. When I look through my notes, I can surely tell that my mind wandered at that point, and I know why. Art inspires us, and literature is art, thus the above quote inspired me, but it was a very, very dark inspirational path. Be forewarned.
In June, it will have been a decade since my father killed himself. It's been so hard to figure out what went wrong. I was only twelve at the time, newly confirmed into the church, and hopeful for my mother's recovery from the breast cancer that she'd been diagnosed with six months prior. My parents had split up four days before because my father had sort of gone off the deep end after an accident and his alcoholism progressed, and it was no longer the kind of relationship that would aid my mom in getting well once more. It was when my mom and I went to the house (we had gone to stay at my Mom's friend's condo) to wrap my youngest sister's birthday gifts (she was turning 5 two days later) that we found him.
Eliot's quote reminded me of the exploration into my 12 year relationship with my father, and how much I didn't know at the time that I could only learn from extensive counseling. At first I blamed my mother for dad's death because of the separation, but I recalled then my last words to him which were full of hate because I was so upset that he would let my mother take us away rather than fight to be a family. I blamed the cancer, alcohol, us kids, dad's job, the falling stock market, an injury that my father had a few months before, you name it... I blamed it.
I have worked hard to 'move on,' but I haven't arrived at many of the places, which I hope to know, someday. For this reason, Eliot's quote feels tailor made to what my goals have become.
Sorry if this was depressing... then again.... not all epiphanic moments are happy ones
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