February 17, 2012 by Tiffany A. Robbins
Oh Lord, why do you force this girl upon me? I realize my weakness for companionship is the source of my affliction, and I beg you to provide me the strength to send her away. Can you not take mercy upon me and send me someone less odious? Does watching my father die in front of my eyes a little more each day not entitle me to a friend of higher caliber? I’d like someone I can be proud to carry with me in public as I am forced to endure the deplorable glances of my peers who feel only hollow compassion for my dark circumstances.
I’m sorry to complain so much Lord, but I feel like my dying father gives me some license to do so. I have tried so hard to find other solutions to my distain for my “best friend” before approaching you with my problem. I used my iPod to keep the world at bay and sometimes the soothing tones of my violin keep the horrific, pitiable sounds from my delicate nerves. However, I can’t help but feel a little bit crazy when the iPod and violin do not respond to my conversations. My iPod’s response to the needs of my grief is only a random shuffling. My violin is even worse as its voice provides a vivid mirror into my own soul; reflecting back only that which I give it.
Why, Lord, must she be your answer? I keep hoping that maybe she’ll just stray away like so many others. Must her loyalty be my curse? She never leaves! Here I stand, scrubbing the mess off the kitchen counter from the endless parade of hospice do-gooders who trounce through my home and yet, there she sits, mindlessly talking about nothing and doing nothing to help but talking. She’ll be here still tonight, talking, until we’re both exhausted and we slink off to our separate corners of the world for the night. She’ll be here in the morning to greet me with the sun. Once again, I’ll make her breakfast. I find comfort that the kitchen will still be clean, as the first do-gooder will have yet to arrive. At least her presence will shield me from their pathetic stares and questions about father.
Of course, Lord, I know I could always just do without my friend. How noble I would be if I could hold my head high and be the girl who endures while carrying my dying world upon my small shoulders. Alas, even I could not endure that much sympathy. No, I am too much of a coward for that high road. It is better to have her endless, selfish prattle to cover up the pitying murmurs of the crowds.
Oh, Lord, I trust you to know what I need and to send it quickly. Please, let her not be what you think I need. I’m not sure how much more of her I can bear.