![]() ![]() Those few moments play in my mind like a movie: a scene that I saw from the outside, without having any control in the moment. ![]() I screamed at the attendant, “Why won’t you help me?” What I meant was “Why does everyone die?” I was in crisis. I approached the ticket counter, perhaps not making much sense as I tried to explain my predicament through the plexiglass divider to the Greyhound employee, and eventually my sobs overcame me and I pounded my fists on the counter. With no money to my name, no loved ones in sight, and no sleep in the week leading up to this moment in the Pittsburgh Greyhound station, I fell apart. He died too young, leaving behind my college roommate and their sweet young babies, and I had about all of the loss I could handle since my father’s death the year before. It was August 1999, and I had just gotten off a bus from Wisconsin, where I had attended the funeral of a college friend. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |