(no subject)
Growing up my parent's church had "prayer cloths." A symbolic piece of fabric, anointed with holy oil. Essentially, a Christian representation of a good luck charm. Ten years ago I turned 16. Two weeks later I received my driver's license and began driving my 1981 Pontiac Gran Lemans Sedan around town. Every time I cleaned my car I found a prayer cloth taped to the bottom of the driver's side of the bench seat. Every time I threw it out and internally bitched and complained about the brainwashing of religion. It was always placed there by my mom, without fail, without me noticing, until I cleaned my car again. Two years later, I got my 1985 Monte Carlo SS. Without fail, everytime I cleaned my car, I found a piece of a prayer cloth taped to the underside of the driver side buck seat. Two years later I got into an accident, totalled the car, and ended up inside the car on top of a pile of scrap lumber on a construction site on the southeast corner of 7th Street and University Avenue, about 5 blocks away from where I now live.
Ten years after turning 16, my mother is lying in her bed, unable to sleep, unable to move, with no help of a prayer cloth ever being able to save what is left of her life. Today I turn 26, and I can say for damn near certain, my mom won't see me turn 27. She has never met any of my girlfriends, rarely met any of my friends, and when we talk on the phone the conversation is practically non-existant since she can hardly hold up the phone, let alone muster the strength to say more than "Hi, Jared."
Fifteen years ago my prayers went unanswered. Fourteen years ago I lost my faith. Eight years ago I moved out of Palm Beach and to Gainesville. This year I most likely lose my mother.
Here's to goodbyes...
Ten years after turning 16, my mother is lying in her bed, unable to sleep, unable to move, with no help of a prayer cloth ever being able to save what is left of her life. Today I turn 26, and I can say for damn near certain, my mom won't see me turn 27. She has never met any of my girlfriends, rarely met any of my friends, and when we talk on the phone the conversation is practically non-existant since she can hardly hold up the phone, let alone muster the strength to say more than "Hi, Jared."
Fifteen years ago my prayers went unanswered. Fourteen years ago I lost my faith. Eight years ago I moved out of Palm Beach and to Gainesville. This year I most likely lose my mother.
Here's to goodbyes...