My story to tell.

I have been questioning a lot lately, more than normal, even for me. What is it that makes us see life the way we do? So many things happen to shape an individual view, one that becomes all your own, that you think is totally normal (and it likely isn't) or one that you think is unique (and it is really all too common).

I sway on a pendulum with certainty between feeling as though I have not experience enough, need to get out and do more, that my life has been simple and sheltered to feeling the depth of all I have experienced, seeing each bit as something that I can own.

While watching a movie recently (The Beginners... I would recommend it for sure, a bit quirky but really good!) I cried, no shocker, these days I dry at the drop of a hat with media programming, though these weren't any tears. I realised that they were not only the predictable tears of sadness, but they were of anger as well. There were notes in the story that struck me where I didn't realise I was vulnerable. There are things I have witnessed, but a part of, support during, that I did not realise had the lasting effect on me that they did. Though I never felt able to talk about it much, they weren't my stories to tell, they were not my grievances or my deaths to mourn, I was the friend, the support. It is only now that I realise what it has done to me, how it has shaped my view of the world, and due to a few friends feel that they are actually my stories to tell as well. My experiences and mine alone are to tell, I cannot account for what it is like to be the young child of a dying parent, that wasn't me. I was the friend, who was there, once through it all and once as we or I didn't see it as a big deal, until it was, and until it was too late. There were a few others, mom's best friend, a personal friend, uncle, grandparent's.

I have made another revelation in it all, through another death that is quite liberating, and I am glad to have discovered. I had not realised but my experiences had shaped that it was normal, if not somewhat expected to lose a parent early in life, not always in school, but twenties, thirties, etc... I see that point of view now as a defence mechanism, I saw it happen around me, so it was likely to happen to me as well, something I would have to deal with soon, though I am learning to realise that this is not the norm in the society we live in. My mother in law lost her mother this year, she is in her early 60's, and her mother lived a long wonderful life and passed away at 97 (to Alex's memory). What a freeing thing to realise, I know that I must face these trouble someday, but I can let go of expecting to deal with the pains so soon. I know it can, happen, anything can, but it isn't healthy for me to worry that it is.

Though in these cases I am not a main character, but a supporting role, I too have a view point, and vantage point, I have a story to tell, and one that I now realise is mine to share.