March 10, 2011
– from a writing piece created in Main Street Writers group
Thinking of each blessing in my life, it’s almost impossible to think of curses. I’d say my father was a curse, and my ex-husband the same. But saying that would mean that I wouldn’t have gained what I did from the loss of both of them. (They aren’t dead – but the goods parts of them are). It isn’t really a blessing or a curse that they aren’t in my life any more.
I was told this – and now I believe it – that if you experience something traumatic, you begin counting your blessings. I could have fallen victim to seeing all of life’s curses, but I didn’t because my son was a blessing that made all the curses seem small.
My blessings are the people who have come into and out of my life and reminded me that life is, good anyway. My curses are the days where I forget that.