Legacies are a complicated thing to resolve. Actually, that's not always true. The legacy that I am left with is a complicated thing to resolve. It is the most disconcerting feeling to be the only thing left of someone, to be somebody's legacy in this world. My friend writes about half lives and I can't quite relate. He is right, time does have a way with wounds. The world's worst thing that happened to you, doesn't simply disappear in 9 years, but it does fade into your skin, becoming just another part of what makes you, you. Much like your childhood scars that you felt would never ever lessen in the intensity of pain they caused, you can look at this pock mark on your soul and think, almost wistfully, ha! Because you did bear it out, you did survive, you did reach adulthood, and graduate and fall in love and marry and have children of your own. You didn't, as planned, throw yourself off the top of the tallest building you could find. All of that makes you the victor, and the pock mark a mere bystander that only diminished with time.
And yet, I am no closer to the reason why. Why me? Why then? How exactly? I don't know the answer and I am certain I never will. But mostly, I am reconciled to that, it does not frustrate me nearly as much as it used to. What does compound my anger and confusion brings me back to the legacy I am left with. The 15 years that came before the 9 years were not simple straight forward, happy years. They weren't candy and roses and rainbows. They were not even of this world. So I am left with the unresolved question of "How the fuck am I supposed to feel now?"
And therein, lies the rub. How the fuck am I supposed to feel now?
