I’ve reached the point in my life at which the only people I can really talk to are in heaven. Pater noster, qui es in ceolli. Dominus regnum in ceolli. Mater Dei. My daughter, Amie. Grandma. PJ. Aunt Jane.
It’s not that I’m terribly old, it’s just that I have no friends. I used to. But I’ve lost them all. Not all through death, but through life. Well, some through death, for sure.
So now I pray to my friends: Our Father in heaven, Our Lord who reigns in heaven, the Mother of God, kids, relatives, friends. They don’t answer the way physically living people do, but maybe that’s better.
I miss having friends. I wish I could tell someone what I failure I am–someone who would neither agree nor disagree. Only a friend can accept such an admission and move on. There’s no one like that in my life. I have one son who’s sort of like that, but I cannot burden a child with such knowledge. You can’t tell your kid that his dad’s a loser.
I don’t want someone to say, “No, you’re not a loser.” It would be a lie prompted by love. I am a loser. My life is bankruptcy and incompetence. Failed marriages and dead children. Angry teenagers and financial ruin. I cannot even provide my family a house.
God Almighty, you can save me. Please do. If that’s not part of your plan, please, then, relieve my family’s suffering. Call me home and let them collect the insurance. It will pay off the house, anyway.
Forty-two years is a lot longer than I thought it was. Maybe it’s too long. I think I reached my peak two years ago. It’s all down hill from there.
Your faithful slave, Wil