I don’t know why she is telling me about something that happened 33 years ago. I don’t know, I don’t want to know. I have decided I don’t care about that part of the story. I have also decided not to let her story change the way I feel about the people in the story. Sadly I already do. I have my reasons. I am not sure if her reasons are bigger than mine. I do know, that I want my reasons to remain my own.
She tells me she wants to kill herself. She rants and rants and rants and rants some more. She tells me what she has told me before. I know for a fact she doesn’t want to. I ask her to call me, she doesn’t. I think she fears her voice will give her away. I fear my lack of concern will give me away. I decide chatting would be best for both of us. At some point I start to care. I feel bad that she is hurting and no one needs that. At one point I want to tell her, she is making a big deal out of nothing. But then I remind herself, that this is her deal and a big one.
I have watched a girl become a woman. I have watched her brave the death of a loved one. I have seen her be the strentgh and reason of her family. I have watched her be responsible, mature and grow up with dignity. I have questioned my own abilities during this journey. I hope that when I am put to the test I will come through too. I don’t want her to lose her childhood. Sometimes through her misty eyes, I see the person she really is.