Today’s word for FOWC is “death.” I told myself, “Don’t go there, Jenna, especially since you’ve already posted today,” but here I am anyway, because it’s in my head already; I’m not going there if I already am there!
The poem is one I wrote yesterday. It was basically a stream-of-consciousness, but I think it turned out well, and it’s not even that sad. It’s not hopeless. But it’s so true: This is horrible of me to say, but I am incredibly jealous of those saints who got to die when they were, like, 23 (like St. Thérèse). In the last few years, I have sort of been aware: “Oh, I’ve lived longer than she did now. Oh, I outlived him now.”
The worst part is, sometimes I don’t even necessarily want to go to Heaven. What I mean is, sometimes it would be preferable to me if we just ceased to exist after we die. That’s what I used to think, but now, for better or for worse, I know that annihilation is not an option. If there are only 2 options, I’d rather go to the good place. 🙂
Hey, if I die at thirty-three
Like St. Faustina, that wouldn’t be
Too long to wait, would it, anymore?[*]
I have been so impatient. What’s in store
Is too scary for me, but what has been
The past 3 years is not entirely
Pain. Far from it. Tomorrow (Lord willing)
I’ll gain merit from persevering
Through grace, and that joy will serve
To erase all pain. Refrain
From worrying. One day will cease that sting.
[*] It would still be a few years. After lasting this long, though, who knows? Sometimes I wake up and am just flabbergasted that I survived all this shtuff.