Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Still mad

When I was in grade school, a woman died, and although I did not know her, I'll never forget her.

She was the daughter of a family we knew and went to our church. I was told she accidentally mixed alcohol and sleeping pills. My teacher told the class as we were walking through the science fair that she killed herself.

I waited till we were on our way back to class then told my teacher she was wrong; it was an accident. I don't know if she believed me, but I stood up for something ... against a teacher (a nun no less) ... in grade school. That was not like me.

She also sticks in my mind because of her mom. The daughter was the only girl in a big family, and for years after the death her mom looked as if she had just cried and was about to start crying again.

She called God "that son of a bitch" for taking her daughter. She was angry ... until, she told my mom, she got tired of being mad all the time.

I am tired of being mad, too, mad about my life and my disability, but I am not by a long shot ready to forgive God.

I am at the beach for a few days. I have a beach wheelchair that requires big doorways and a pusher. Mostly today I just sat in one spot. I am with people who would do just about anything for me, but it is hard to focus on me to the exclusion of everyone else. I am not sure I'd want it. And it is hard to watch people play in the surf or just walk down the sand, probably oblivious to how lucky they are.

I feel I should not have come, and that makes me really mad because I love the beach and the breeze and the sand and the smell.

That son of a bitch.


Anonymous said...

OK, I really don't believe that you in grade school stood up to a nun, and I respect all the more, as if I did not already respect you as much as humanly possible. And who, exactly, are you talking about? And I hope that you mostly don't think you should not have gone to the beach, because I think that mostly you should have gone. And yes, we are oblivious, to some extent, of how lucky we are. But we are also kept aware, by our love for you and others, that we are all lucky (for lack of a better word) in different ways. I, for example, am lucky that you are my brother.
Mostly, Matt, I love you and want you to be happy. I sent you my funniest child to play with. take advantage of him. he loves you too.

Anonymous said...

My dear boy.
Perhaps you are missing your brothers in law who wrestle you into the innertube and keep you floating nearby. It's a stupid sucky world in so many ways, but in others - well, not so bad. You are loved, loved, loved. Small consolation maybe, but it's what we have to give.

Anonymous said...


You are the reason we go to the beach with the great and powerful "Uncle Matt" whom my kids love more than lots of other people. They hear mom and dad's van beeping open and they run to the door, "Uncle Matt is here>"


Matt said...

Thanks. Mom says I get justifiably cranky by things like the light switch in the accessible bathroom being at standing height. I don't know how justifiable it is, but I do get cranky. Today was better.

Danger Kitten said...

I love it when you rail at god, Matt. Why? Because I rail all the time too, even if I don't believe in him the way you do, but because you're this wicked smart, funny as shit man, I figure if we're both bitching about the injustices in our lives, then it must mean something. Then again, I think it probably means that pain is in fact relative to your situation and while mine involves having legs that function, it still sucks to be me sometimes. But somehow, if we can all whine and complain and laugh about each other's travails, then it means we're all here in this human experience and jesus .. wouldn't the alternative suck ass?

Love you doll.

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