I'm Not Crazy—Just Awake

Since my Dad died, I had been operating in a semi-comatose manner.
Even though I was living and going about my life,
Every thing was blurry to me.
Then the other day—while I was driving—these words came to me:

The day death lost its sting was ordinary.
I didn't find religion—had that.
Didn't here the voice of the Lord—just the radio.
I just understood that the fear of death is for the living.

Then the words "I used to think" came rushing forward
and all these things I used to think came to me.
They're still going on in my mind today.
I feel as if at that moment I woke up profoundly and irrevocably changed.
I realize that the death of a parent is one of life's most altering experiences.

If I were to describe a picture of it,
it would be like the ground that has all these cracks
from weather and time.
Then in the middle is one huge chasm.
It's big and deep but beautifully perfect because
it belongs as testament to the powerful effect of the internal on the external.

Maybe I am going crazy. Who knows what crazy is?

I used to think wearing a bad outfit was crazy.
Now I know caring too much about your outfit is crazy.

I used to think I heard what was said to me.
Now I know I heard what I listened to.

Just kicking the ballistics.

© 2005 Randi Reilly, College Park, MD