I almost cried.

I almost cried when my mother died.
My sister, Judy, called me mid-morning and told me. My heart lurched, and my breath whooshed out, i bent over to keep myself standing when suddenly, the monster man i was married to at the time, punched me in the right temple. He told me he had no time for hysterics, and "besides, you probably won't cry when i die so you can't cry now".  I looked at him, and told him, " no, i won't cry, i'll spit in your dead eyes and dance with un-fettered joy on your fresh grave".
Well, that did'nt go over well, so he proceeded to pick up a kitchen chair and break it over my back.

I didn't cry when my father died.
I felt no sorrow. I had lost him years ago, long before his death. He started molesting me when i was 8. That was when my father died.

I didn't cry when my brother died.
I felt no sorrow. I had lost him years ago when he decided little sister should learn all about sex from her big brother. That was when my brother died.

I felt bad when my grandmother died.
I hadn't seen her for 30 years, but i remembered that her home was one of the few places i felt safe and cared for.

I shed a tear when my sister, Joan, died.
I didn't know her well. She moved out away from home when i was still quite young. She made her escape. And left me there. I had'nt seen her for 30 years or so either.

I cried when my friend, Jerry, died.
He was true and gentle and caring. He was my friend. His son murdered him with an axe.

I sobbed with abandon when my friend, Velma, died.
She was my friend and confidant for many years. We heard each other's stories and loved each other anyway. She died last year of lung cancer.

So, what does all this mean? Does it mean anything at all? Do i care?
I'm not a bad person. In fact, i think i'm a good person. I care about people, i love my family and my Old Guy. I love my little dog, Daisy. I love the earth. I am honest and true. I say it how it is. I feel sorrow and anger and joy. I have good days and i have bad days.
I don't go about using people, or lying to them or playing games with people's emotions.
I am a survivor.
I am who i am.
I could not, would not, change my being to fit anyone else's idea of what they wanted me to be. I tried. For my ex-husband, i tried. But it just didn't take and i fought back. I have scars from him. Burn scars, and cut scars, and inner scars. But he didn't win.
I am a survivor.
I had uterine cancer, but i beat it. I survived.
I have COPD, with emphysema, asthma and chronic bronchitis.
But i am still here.
I am a survivor.