My uncle hung himself last week. What's interesting is that I had just finished reading 'The Virgin Suicides' the week before....which in no way advoates suicide. In fact, the end is pretty anti-.
But there's this line. "In the end, the tortures tearing the Lisbon girls pointed to a simple reasoned refusal to accept the world as it was handed down to them, so full of flaws." We accept the fact that things will not be perfect, in fact that they will grow worse and worse. We accept that our relatipnships will crumble, our marriages will be struggles, that at some point, we will feel as though the entire world is a gun pointed at us. This is life as we know it, and so we take it with its depression and its murders, we accept the dying love and the failing relationships, the friends who don't call and mothers who kill their babies, and we set our hearts on being dissappointed, because you can't expect perfection. We acknowledge that though we may give all of ourselves away in love, we may never get a whole person in return.
My uncle refused this reality. I may not agree, but I understand.
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