It Does
Corrine used to read my blog faithfully. She once said she learned more about me through this medium than she did just sitting around and shootin' the shit with me.
Corrine doesn't live here anymore. Having her body found Tuesday morning with a self-inflicted fatal gunshot wound which had torn away not just her life's spirit but also a part of her beauty, was, I thought then, as bad as it could get. I was so very wrong.
You see, the bullet hasn't stopped tearing through this family. It is ricocheting around, ripping through relationships and blowing huge holes in our own lives. I recovered from my anger at Corrine, realizing that MY Corrine hadn't been present for several months. It was this other Corrine, and it took over her mind and spirit, and stole her away from us. Some family members can't face being angry at her, but they need to be angry at someone. They are separating into "camps" and spewing hate and blame.
The bullet keeps tearing and we keep bleeding. Is it because the wounds are so large that there is no more compassion, no more understanding and forgiveness? The arms that were enfolding each other are now pointing in accusation. The voices that once shared fears and concerns and love and hope, are now creating pain that cuts through to the heart.
Perhaps suicide is like a Pandora's box: once the lid is off, all of these little evils and poisons get loose in the family and all of the members are just struggling to recapture them and put them back in the box.
Maybe not all of them can be recaptured.
