Sometimes the Cure is Worse Than the Disease

Queen_Elizabeth_Park_Duck_PondThe park is where it all started. My earliest childhood memories were at that park, hurling bread crumbs at the ducks wading through the water. I’d watch their billed heads sink beneath the watery surface in amazement as they nibbled and chewed at the old frozen bread my grandpa had given me to feed them with.

If you give them everything now, you won’t have anything left to give later, I remembered him warning as I neglected rationing my frozen bread. And those words chimed in my head as I drove past the same pond in the same park he took me to at least once a week for years more than a quarter of a century ago. My earliest childhood memories.

I drove up the hill to where the wedding was to take place. It pained me to know I was here mourning my grandpa, while I was on my way to celebrate the union of two friends. It was like I was betraying my childhood, and betraying myself. I choked back tears and dawned my sunglasses to hide the red from my eyes. And between the two, my smile hid everything else.

I’ve given everything I’ve got. I really don’t have anything left to give. You never taught me what to do once I’ve given it all and had nothing left – you only got as far as to what not to do. What now?

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