This tragedy becomes my new religion, another attempt at arguing with bleak reality. I am desperate for a savior that can make me no longer the mother of a child whose heart has been pummeled by a stranger on a change table stained by all the children who had lain on it, alive.
I begin to understand why people concocted ideads about life and death. I now know what dread we were all trying to avoid, with our cults and religiiions. Even those with no religion - we were all hiding, indoctrinated, embedded with ideas about how we must be and must live so as to impose order on the disorder. People sometimes wake up one day and realize that the life they live or they belief system they carry around doesn't work anymore, for any variety of reasons. But many of us don't, because our culutre (or to say it another, cult) too fully consumes our life and extends across our world, our peer group, our country, our political affliation, and all of our experience. We don't even apprehend this, because we are never far enough outside of it to understand what is hapeening.
This leaves only the upheavals, the blindsides, the tragedies, to discompose us enough to investigate just how much the environment in which we find ourselves has created the way we see the world. It is a struggle to see the truth through out indoctrination, to verify the storeis told to us by the culture we have been born into, or have chosen.
Reincarnation now seems to me a perfectly valid concept that human imagination would create as a means to assuage the torture of not being able to go back and relive a day, to undo what has happened. I want to try out a differeent path, a different cult/culture, and see if it will lead to less anguish, because certainly no other path could have led to worse than this. I want to come back as a woman with good parents, who goes to college, who is allowed to love whomever she loves, has children who live, work the enjoys, and a home with family and friends who laugh about the old days.
I now know why people say that everyone has a cross to bear, because I feel this cross crushing me at all times, with the what-ifs and the guilt and the horror of making this incomprehensible mistake. I can understand why people want laws and rules and rights and wrongs now, because if this can happen to my healthy, happy, perfect child, chaos lurks everywhere,.
Heaven as a solution is the stab in the dark that most people refer me to, and when I indulge in the thought of my boy somewhere cotton-like, white and near the sun, a place where one day I would go to and scoop him up in my arms and hug him with every synapse in my brain and nerve ending in my body, it is the most comforting of them all. And, therefore, feels the most deceitful.
What I did not know about the cost of being raised on myths is that it also makes it impossible to deceive oneself anymore. There is no way to find comfort in death. Death is the bleak, the desolate, the scorched, the evaporated, the empty.
I thought that I had known suffering before, but now, I know that suffering is not the pain one has for oneself. True suffering is suffering for what a human being you love has lost, for what they will never have. This suffering has no words for my page, it cannot be expressed because there is no language that can understand it. This suffering is noise too loud to hear - silent letters are anot enough so render it.
Loss is loud, and love is quiet.
This alchemy of life, this magical planer, they bewilder me, they awe me. But no understanding comes, any more than it did to any other hukan who walked this hard land, feeling entitled to explanation where there are none. I have called a truce with the unknown, and I am learning to live with the disquiet. i do not attempt to pray to a God who will now answer.