Posts Tagged ‘Sadness’

It’s raining tonight.


And I don’t mind.


In fact, normally, I find beautiful things in the rain. The way the shrubs and trees and grass burst with luscious life. They way they pop with extra vibrancy against their bleak grey backdrop.


The fresh smell of things revived.


The moist in the air that feels like it’s good for my skin. The jewelish patterns it leaves on the windowpanes. The sound of it panging the roof.


And hey, I’m always wanting a valid reason for a roaring fire.


But tonight, I feel sad listening to the pitter of raindrops smacking on the outside shell of my world. For whatever reason, this night is not one of those nights that I’m willing to search for brightness amongst the streaky, cellophaned streets or the drippy ink sky.


No. Tonight, I just want to be sad.


And that’s alright. Because sadness is poetic. We are lucky to live the sad moments. And rarely do we stay sad forever, right?


Sad is not the enemy.


Because being completely sad is, after all, the very thing that allows us to know when we are completely happy.


And we know this, because our hearts tell us. And so does the wise Louis CK…


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What was once decent in life, can, like magic, become disproportionate in death.


Our memories switch off the ability to recall missteps, unpleasantries and altercations. It takes those things by the neck and drags them deep into the folds of our conscience, tucking them in for a Snow White sleep.


The brain, nature, survival, whatever we choose to call it, takes over, and we remember solely the good—the kind words said, the times they made us smile, their soars and their successes.


But for the majority of breaths—theirs and ours—we brush our teeth, drive to work, eat our dinner and wash the dishes. One day comes after the other and we forge on, comfortable in the knowledge that we simply like, and contently love.


It’s that very love that protects us. It shields. It transforms what’s now gone into only what we need to remain—good deeds, helping hands and a softness of spirit.


And this is understandable. After all, less is more. We tend to scrape away disagreeable to accommodate the palatable on our plates.


But this wasn’t my Papa’s way. In life, as in death, he had no tolerance for waste.


That’s why he only made room for extraordinary his whole life long.

In loving memory of John Martin Murphy Sep 6 1927 - Dec 24  2014

In loving memory of John Martin Murphy
Sep 6 1927 – Dec 24



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