The folded up newspaper sits on my coffee table, containing words about another, taken too soon.
I can’t see to read it and wonder why I bother to keep the paper anyway.
This is not an official tribute…or is it?
Just how much do I want/need/have to say about a woman I’d never met before anyway?
I am rocked by the news, left meandering through
of my own life and what it’s meant to be.
All her lyrics are on repeat in my head. They invite just this sort of examination.
I keep trying to grow, as I write, and to try a bunch of different things with it all. Some things are bound to catch on, while others might not. I have to trust in that process, to thrive in its randomness, but I won’t lessen the effort I put forth.
I have plans in my head, shifting daily perhaps, and then an unforeseen tragedy happens. A woman, middle aged dies suddenly, leaving behind teenage children in the world.
A man is celebrated every January who also was taken much too soon, in evil and ugliness, leaving the lives of especially his children forever changed.
I am lucky to have all I have, to have love and family and a safe place to be. I listen to lots of music, not just The Cranberries, to keep forging on.
I listen to Another Day In Paradise by Phil Collins and I feel the same as I’ve always felt when listening to that set of lyrics. I may feel better that I am feeling for the homeless woman in the song, but really I don’t know what kind of a person that really makes me in the end.
I see those on the street, just as the blind were often seen as beggars on the street, and I want to feed and house everyone. There is a shame and a stigma about it all.
I contemplate and then I hear Dolores’s words in my head: “Don’t analyze. Don’t analyze. Don’t go that way. Don’t live that way. That would paralyze your evolution.”
And oh the lump in my throat returns and I go back to the revolving thoughts in my head and I know I’ll always mourn her voice silenced far too soon.