The falling night

Night is falling slowly for this aging soul

Taunted by the fretful impending silence

He aches while time is passing quickly by

His mounting pain calls for no more violence.




When do we ever really, or can we ever really understand what it's like to depart this current journey for which we so graciously have embarked upon? Can one honestly reckon with an irrational state of thought and fear that plays amongst the broken televisions sets? Spitting out static left and right. Do we all feel the same way, and when we know it's close do we really know? Is there something within the depths of our mind that shows us time that turns on a dime? How does one know, I do not ask in question for I merely ponder the subject analytically, hoping for some relevant answer to slap me in the face. When all the while answers bounce one by one straight off my chest.

You don't always have to look far for the answers we so desperately seek. Life goes by very slowly some days, and other days, you blink and yesterday is a month away. So what about a lifetime, I cant imagine peering into the book of my entire life! A life time of slow moving days, bonded together by years of turbulent driving may not feel that apparent or even meaningful. That is until you put an expiration date on it. Then somehow life seems lost, un-owned, and even pointless for some. And some people persevere and push through an unimaginable struggle. What makes that difference? I've often wondered and never questioned. However I believe there is no right or wrong answer because we each have fraternal lives. Meaning were brought up in society together, were so alike you and I, perhaps not by color, language, or money, But we all share the human gift of emotional thought, compassion, anger, fear, all of it. A gift selfishly used in some instances. So when we go, we each perceive it differently based upon the emotional cake you have baked over the years. Some crumble fast, some hold out in the freezer for years. I feel that when your on your way to somewhere unknown you draw from your life in order to make you great escape.

When you've lived a life on the streets, in the hood, in abusive relationships, what ever it may be, you leave here with unfinished emotional ties holding you back, locking you in a tumble wheel of emotional movies repeats...ties that will ground you so deeply when it comes time for your soul to move along. Your body will be tired, weak and ready to rest. Yet your restless mind will leave you sick. Sick with regret and anger. The more ties, the more difficult to accept your time is slowly ending. When your sick and lonely life will sit upon you laughing and burning a hole in your heart.

Running from life and never standing up to all that you have left in your path, then life will still catch up with you. One day you will have to look your life right square in the eye and question whether or not you are be happy enough to go on. I guess I'm starting to realize that living my life now is so important to the end of my life. That these days: that pass so slowly could be filled with thought and compassion to the world around me. This world greeted me as my soul was birthed and this world will see me off, when the time comes. I don't want to be looking at a pile of mistakes I would rather see them as my life lessons, my elegant strokes of vivid color splashed across the canvas.

Do we see within ourselves the faded time, and tattered heart, beating deep within our chest? I take my father as a lesson, the greatest lesson in life I'll ever just be handed. A this point he views his life as meaningless, as tho there is so much he screwed up, and perhaps the whole world is looking down on him. In his eyes, not mine. Although he has disappointments within is soul, I look at him with an enormous amount of respect. My father has completely gone from one spectrum to another. In my youth and early adulthood, he was a wondering nomad…

I'd like to say. He lived his life on the edge, the world was his stage and he was the water running throughout the land. Not thinking of time, future, or anyone else. He lived life for him, but still manages to hand out baskets of love and laughter my way. He screwed up his life yes maybe, but he had happy times, we all do. He just looks at all the bad he's done, all the things he's never done. I know that as we've grown closer together and even through all of the hospital visits, he finally has some peace about him and I. For ages my dad has walked around with this guilt cloud high above his head. I see in my father that because his guilt of giving us up for adoption was so intense, when we grew up and really got to know him, he internally punished himself by not allowing his self to be, of feel loved. I know it's sounds odd but many people do that to their selves unknowingly. I get the feeling now that my father really feels that I love him. Even if I lose my dad, I will be thankful for this time were together, learning and teaching one another our different strengths. It's not always a horrible thing when someone goes, it's gonna hurt. It's going to cut me like a rose, while I cry tears of joyful sadness. I'm glad we have this time to feel close. If there is anything I can give my dad, it's my heart, I will be there every step of the way.

It's very difficult to watch your parents struggle with an impending death. My grandparents raised me, my grandfather died of cancer when I was 11, and my grandmother was very open with everything. She wanted us to understand it not fear it. It broke my heart the day he died, somehow it must have been a purpose, a lesson, one that would allow my heart to be guided along this path with my Dad. My dad gave me away as a child, but my purpose for him was so much greater than he or I could have ever imagined.

I'm lucky to have had sadness of this type before in my life, perhaps with out it; I wouldn't be sitting here writing this. I wouldn't hold back the tears for my father's sake and allow him to shed pain on my shoulder. I've watched him, cry, and profess his ultimate fears to me in the past month. He's even told me that he feels that time is running short, he says things he's never said before, I see the tender heart shining softly through his eyes, and voice. He tells me that he loves me something he rarely did often, and how much he never knew that he could feel this love. He tells his fears to me, and so I listen, and don't tell him how to feel. I learn of this man I never quite understood, and now I see the person underneath the jaded mask. I just talk to him, give him company, and companionship of the greatest kind. A father and Daughter bond one that often seems so hard to find for most people I talk too. Something we missed out on when I was growing up. I want to be so sad and thrash around scream it's not fair.

But there's a whole other side to me that knows I must be stronger than my father, now is the time to show him all that he's taught me. I must show him that there is nothing to be afraid of. I know that he'll still have mountains of fear in his heart, but I can give him peace of mind to help the time. There is no need to spend time crying, for if the moment touches me I'll surely indulge in an emotional purge. But for the most part I want him to enjoy the rest of life, honest with himself, and able to wake up and smile. It is important to have joy in the fading night.

In my very darkest deepest emotional moments I turn to writing, most of it is just the ever-present thought playing chase in my head. Writing for me is very therapeutic, something that releases the negative energy I often bottle up and keep tucked neatly beneath the surface. It's me and it's who I am. I often drag on with detailed thoughts, but I'm not a simple girl so why should I write in simple fashion?

Thinking, always
Crito