I got through Christmas. After 5 years of struggling and overcoming, my dear Eddie got tired. His poor body broke down, he went into organ failure and died last year a couple of days before Christmas. My heart had not felt such pain since Katrina destroyed our world; I felt that crushing pain again, and worse: the sudden jerk in my soul of its mate being ripped away. You understand sorrow suddenly, truest sorrow.
Last Christmas I was in a PTSD trance. Last Christmas didn’t count. But this Christmas, being fully aware of visiting family and friends alone, and having no one to complain to about how hot mom’s house is or how cold my sister’s house us or how far we had to travel post-Katrina to see these people, I realized a year is not long enough to feel normal again. Neither is six years.
At least Obama let me buy me FEMA trailer for $1. I do have a place to lay my head. I just don’t have that wonderful shoulder to lay it on any more. So, I’ll do what I must to keep what little I have left, waiting for normal to return. But, I don’t think it wants to.
STORIES OF THE 504 