Well, I got up again this morning. I have now done my 40 days and nights in the wilderness of life without Diana. So what gives? The World’s Cruelest Joke is still being played.
She’s still gone and I’m still here. And still wondering why.
The latest dirty trick is fits of uncontrollable crying. Lots of them. Just suddenly hitting me. Nasty, knock me to the ground crying fits.
Such is the World’s Cruelest Joke.
I’ve met others. Other targets of the World’s Cruelest Joke. They all ask the same question I do. Why is he/she gone and they’re still here? What great purpose is served by one more person walking aimlessly around, dead inside? They’ve all been told the same thing I have. That they still have great purpose. Some big reason for being here. Big things ahead. Mark it down. It’s coming.
Like me, they still wait to find just what that might be. Like me, it eludes them.
Like me, their lives have been reduced to going through the motions. To pretending to have a reason to.
Does that special new purpose ever come? Not that I’ve heard from others who’ve also been trying to survive the World’s Cruelest Joke. Pretending to have survived the death of that one closest in life becomes the way to fight back.
‘That that! Cruel Joke! I’m still here. You didn’t beat me. Couldn’t kill me.
I wonder if it knows what a complete lie that is.