J. Michael BrowningI had a thought today, and not a new one, save for variety. It is the same thought I’ve had for the past 15 years. It’s one of emptiness and quietly associated with precognitive tragedy. Hope hides and the feelings of love and joy are precursors of eventuality.
I also thought about why. Why I am who I am, why it all matters, and why I matter.
I Am
I was lucky to be born a bastard – a child deemed unimportant enough that I was passed around like a boarded dog while those responsible for my wellbeing enjoyed an almost permanent state of parental ignorance.
Whether intentional or not, young parents don’t always make the best decisions. This is especially true for those continually fighting time, not wanting to let youthfulness slip quickly into the night.
That youthfulness translated into neglect and facilitated my ultimate transition to a family that would graciously share its namesake with me. I still remember standing in front of the judge, and having this woman choose to be a mother to a six-year-old boy.
I Am Not
Tragedy befalls us all. It is meticulous, unrelenting, persistent. Seeing those that I love succumb to the marionette of vices that shadowed them to an early death was paralyzing—me, with this unfortunate view of proclivities that tear at the fabric of self-control. I am not one to capitulate.
I am not my environment. I am not the bearer forced to reenact familial choices, predestined to follow a stenciled path. I am not stringless, nor do the faults of others free me.
I am not the charred remains of battlefield children caught in the act of living. I am not void of fear or the repentance of wartime morality.
It Matters
The weight of why has me listing. It has developed intelligence that readily adapts, countering my will. I have been parried and pummeled synchronous to the beat of my heart. I am waning.
I know what thoughts linger like a light dusting, persistently layered in its application so that it weighs heavy over time. The thoughts matter. The application matters. How the memories creep into my dreams and hold my subconscious hostage matters.
The daily battle matters.
I Matter
It’s all a lie.
Not so much a day goes by when I don’t think about thinking about it. I matter in the sense that my family and those I love matter. Providing for them matters, and if that means being present, well, then that matters too.
I know the game. I spackle and smooth the facade faithfully … diligently. I say the words that need to be said when it needs to be said. I take an active stance and see each new day as compensation for my inaction.