The feeling of helplessness that runs through a person when they see a disaster like last Tuesday can be pretty intense. And I kept thinking of something I discovered when my sister died last year of angiosarcoma.
She was 37 years old, with two young sons, wonderful kids who could basically be described as "energetic angels." I had often worried that I would be a terrible uncle, because I'm mostly an inward-turning person who isolates himself with art. She would always assure me that they loved me, and there was no doubt that the kids demonstrated that as well. We grew closer as time went by and I always looked forward to our reunions. Only three weeks before her death she had written me making plans for Christmas, completely unaware of what was going on inside her.
Angiosarcoma is an insidious cancer that works its way through the bloodstream eventually to metastasize itself in various organs. She went to the hospital for what she thought was a mere stomachache, and eventually started losing blood by the pint. An MRI then revealed the ugly truth: she had cancer everywhere.
I couldn't believe it. This was someone who was still young, in the prime of life. Her kids hadn't even reached the teenage years yet. Up until then she had been active, exuberant, energetic, full of joy. She ate all the right foods and kept fit. She had a positive attitude, even when going through a divorce. How could something like this happen?
I did go through a period of blaming myself. Was there anything I could have done? And of course, there wasn't. It was something I couldn't help. Something I couldn't have changed by myself.
There are things we have to deal with and move on. The death of someone I loved deeply will always stay with me. That's something I can't turn around. She will never be back, and my world will never be the same.
And the election was in a small way like that -- it was a horror I watched unfold, helpless to change it in that instant. My feelings ran deep: I didn't know if the damage could be rectified. But here's the difference: it can. This is something that can be fixed in two years. This is something we can still remedy. There are some things you can't help -- but this isn't one of them.
In one month will be the one-year mark of my sister's death, and I think I need some time away from the bitterness and anger of politics to cope with it. I'll be spending another Christmas with her sons, trying not to think of how much better it would have been with their mother to enjoy watching them open their presents. So this is a TTFN-BBL post, not a GBCW post. I'll be back to help again. I can help make 2012 a better year for us than ever.
But some things I can't help... and yet, I still have to deal with them in the here and now, and possibly forever.
Fight the good fight, everybody.