Worst Is A Five Letter Word

My worst day was the day I understood with my mind, and felt in my heart, that my marriage had ended. That it was really, actually, fully, over. My wishes and hopes for my future and my children’s future, vanished. Like a well-executed magic trick.

The white dove in the magician’s hand – gone. The colorful scarf pulled from his sleeve – gone. The lady sawed in half, lying in a wooden box – gone. How is it possible? It makes no sense. And yet, it happened. Everyone saw it.

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But it wasn’t until I lost my parents, that I understood the concept of worst days. Days so meaty I felt broiled, burned, thick with never-ending grizzle that strangled me. It was heavy and out-of-body. An experience I wouldn’t recommend – except that it’s a wake-up call, the likes of which I haven’t felt, before or since. Reminds you you’re alive. Reminds you to be grateful. Reminds you how often we are consumed with very unimportant matters.

And it reminds me that worst is relative. My imagination cannot successfully conceive of worst. And this, my friends, is a problem for which I am grateful.

 

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About wendykarasin

I am complicated and seeking - joy and sorrow, country and city, competition and cooperation. After behavior of a gregarious nature, I require down time to refuel. My loves are children, family, friends, reading, writing, blogging, fitness, and health. I feel most alive when I stay true to my core values. Beauty makes me happy, pain helps me grow.
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