Racing to the finish

I watched the PA runners race, waiting but not wanting another catastrophe to happen. It seems my naiveté knows no bounds. I kept thinking the brothers were simply swept away by impulsive passions to better their individual beliefs. It seems know they were egged on by a mother and had assistance by 'friends' who tried to destroy evidence and a wife who wanted to protect her husband. A mere boy who laughs when confronted with the bombings by friends who were watching on TV.

What can be in the mind of a boy his age, who has seen much good and evil of the world, who could not escape the facts surrounding those who attempted the same feats and were captured, only to spend their lives locked up forever. Bombs of opportunity, they were called. Made too quickly and ready to go, they had to be disbursed prior to July 4th, so Patriot's Day seemed like a good substitute. Is it the thinking of many youths that tomorrow never comes and if it does?...nothing can touch me, I am invincible.

Did his mother urge him to give up his life for Islam? She blames the U.S. for corrupting her children and yet they flourished here on government welfare programs deemed refugees, there was empathy and a helping hand as this country always tries to offer those new to these shores.

And I have to ask why I empathize with such broken wings as these two were...stray cats, fallen birds, people who seem down on their luck because of chance, happenstance, bad luck...even poor decisions whose consequences mar their current days, decisions they would never make if given a second chance. And yet prisons are filled with remorseful people, some of whom learn to change and some of whom grow firmer and more stubborn from the very grief they've caused others and themselves and now find there's no way out.

When I consider madness and my hand in it, I think of the straight track of self preservation I've remained on. No booze, drugs, stealing or falling behind and waiting for the government to care for me. I've lived a very hard life but a clean one. I've worked since age 14 and yet still cannot grant myself the peace of resting now in retirement.

People around me ask and wonder what in the world I can possible do all day...reading, baking, keeping house, shopping, resting from illnesses, these are minor escapes in a world that values most, what one does for a living. if you are doing no work, you are doing nothing. When I was a child and would walk to school I often wondered what went on in the street with adult I saw who didn't seem to be working. Were they bums? Alcoholics, some were. perhaps many had to leave to race before the finish. My father didn't leave until he was injured at age 74 by a push cart of dresses that ran over his ankle. Even then, he felt a failure because he wasn't supporting his wife and girls. he wept and worried what was to become of us, he knew the race wasn't over because his time was ending...he wanted us ready to run for ourselves once he was gone. Every time he tried to talk to me about this, my mother told me to go find something else to do and to leave him alone. I cannot tell you that I know my father can see what I've done with my life, that I made my living with writing, something he yearned to do albeit with a 3rd grade education. I cannot say he waits for me, because I don't know any of these things. Perhaps my 'race' ended earlier than others because it began so early...maybe I need to learn how to grant myself the grace of being allowed to finish early.