I feel sick.
Posted: Fri Dec 22, 2006 9:28 pmI've just lost another friend. The third this year.
First was Roger, who was struck in the head by a lightning bolt. He was kept alive on a machine for 6 months before his family let him go.
Then Matthew. When his brother told me he was gone I hung up on him. I couldn't bear to hear about how it happened. I thought I was having a nervous breakdown for weeks.
Now Randy. I can't get my head around it. He was a year younger than me and he died in his sleep. Heart condition. 27.
My friends are few and far between, and I've lost three in a matter of months. I'm doing everything I can to make Christmas a special holiday for my children despite my own problems, but I feel so guilty because of the pain that I know their wives and children must be going through and knowing that there's nothing I can do for them.
I keep stumbling over it in my mind.
'Where's my other shoe?'
Randy's dead.
'More Potatoes?'
Matthew's gone.
'Kids, Bedtime!'
Poor Roger.
I've hardly got a warm friend left anymore. It turns my stomach.
I don't really expect much response to this. I just hoped that maybe if I got the words out there I might get a decent night's sleep. After a week, god knows I need one.
First was Roger, who was struck in the head by a lightning bolt. He was kept alive on a machine for 6 months before his family let him go.
Then Matthew. When his brother told me he was gone I hung up on him. I couldn't bear to hear about how it happened. I thought I was having a nervous breakdown for weeks.
Now Randy. I can't get my head around it. He was a year younger than me and he died in his sleep. Heart condition. 27.
My friends are few and far between, and I've lost three in a matter of months. I'm doing everything I can to make Christmas a special holiday for my children despite my own problems, but I feel so guilty because of the pain that I know their wives and children must be going through and knowing that there's nothing I can do for them.
I keep stumbling over it in my mind.
'Where's my other shoe?'
Randy's dead.
'More Potatoes?'
Matthew's gone.
'Kids, Bedtime!'
Poor Roger.
I've hardly got a warm friend left anymore. It turns my stomach.
I don't really expect much response to this. I just hoped that maybe if I got the words out there I might get a decent night's sleep. After a week, god knows I need one.