Losing sight
Sometimes I lose sight of why. I forget the reasons for this vendetta, this life long mission of revenge... and absolution in a way...
I lose sight of why I'm doing it...who i'm doing it for...because that would be those those two little boys sleeping on the motel couch over there. My boys. I wonder if I should do this, if maybe I should stop now, give it up. But now it's so much more than revenge. Revenge implies something you need to do to punish someone, but also so that you can move on with your life and get over something. That will never happen for me. I cannot move on, because I have no life. Not any more. You see there I go again, losing sight of why I'm doing this. I'm doing this for my boys. It's revenge for them, I'll carry their burden of revenge until they are old enough to feel the need for it themselves. Yet, in a way that would be losing sight of them as well, offering up revenge to them, encouraging it... sometimes I lose track of them...I go hunting for it, and I forget they're at Jim's, I forget how long they've been there without their father...I forget them.
Sometimes I lose sight of everything. My sight. Everything is coloured by those events six years ago, now. Six years, three months, fourteen days. Everything is in shades of grey. except it. If I saw it, that would be in shades of red. Red for the blood it has spilled, red for the anger and hatred I feel for it. Sometimes I lose my sight.
A long time ago I lost sight of Mary. That scares me more than anything. That I can't see her. That sometimes I have to get out an old photo just to remember her. I lost sight of her for real that night. She disappeared from my life, and now I cannot see. Blinded by grief. Sometimes, though, I think I've got my sight back. I'll walk down a road and see a woman from behind that looks just like her. I know its not her, but that feeling...the feeling of comfort and familiarity and love...I feel it, just for a second, even though my mind tells me she's dead. Then my mind shouts at me, gets my attention, and I endure a few seconds of blinding grief before I'm that shell again. That shell that hunts and loses sight of why.