Murdering Connection

My favorite time of any day is the time I spend with my kids, any and all of them. Today, that was a few hours this afternoon, crushed between hours of writing and research and interviewing and taking my tax information to my accountant and just generally getting through another day.

But at other times in my life, another favorite part of my day was the time I spent with a partner, a soul-mate, an adult, not one of my children.

That type of experience has grown so remote from my daily reality that I have to question whether it will ever happen again.

Then again, I have secret friends. I also have ghosts and secret sharers. I have those who would never admit that they even exist in the real world, and of course, objectively, they don't, or maybe they just do. I'll never tell.

These are the kinds of friends who do not hide behind their culture to pretend that turning silent is okay. These are the people who keep talking, one way or another, knowing our time here is short and if we don't keep talking when we die we will die the loneliest of all deaths.

But I write these words in vain, because no one who reads them will have any idea what I am talking about, particularly no one who could make an actual difference now.

So it must be. Stories begin and they also end.

The horrible violence of cutting off communication is, IMHO, as bad a crime as murder.

There, I have said it.

That said, don't worry about me. Because I have my kids and they never cut off our communication, they always keep it going. So I am among the lucky ones -- the people who always have someone to talk to at the touch of a keystroke.

And even when I catch myself yearning for that other, that supposed best friend who apparently never really existed, or who only pretended to play the part, I accept that my judgement was bad, that these women were off on other quests, not one that included me.

It's fine. They can deal with their fate and I will deal with mine. No best friend? No soul mate?

Sobeit.

-30-