Saturday, May 12, 2007

Torn

For a fleeting moment in my day, I experienced a strange intersection of experience and feeling that left me laughing and, seconds later, crying.

I found out last night that Aunt Marie will have her foot amputated next week. It is for the best, I understand, but I mourn the impossibly difficult choice that she is being forced to make. I hate the timing. I'm scared for her; I'm concerned for the stability of Emma. I think about it and my stomach twists.

My good friend Alexandra, who has the same job as I do in another location of my company's, recently had a terribly ugly experience with a boy. She held her head up proudly for the first day. She's beginning to crumble. I carry sadness for her.

Kevin finally got a new job. The timing is, in many ways, perfect; his unemployment is just running out. And he seems hopeful and excited about a new beginning.

And a new beginning is what he's getting. When he called to tell me the good news about his employment, he slipped in another gem: his wife is pregnant!

I'm celebrating for Kevin. I'm bitter for Alexandra. I'm broken for Aunt Marie. I'm nothing for myself.

So I laugh. Then I cry. And then I do it all over again.

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