If it doesn’t murder, it doesn’t matter!

My father always used to say, if it doesn’t murder, it doesn’t matter. This always brought me great strength and those words always wandered around in my head filling me with pride for my father. He drove us with these words, they were like fuel and when difficult times came along they were like music to our ears, forcing us up to face whatever there was that lurked around the corner, be it bills, heartache, work stress, dad was always there with those comforting words.

Today however, for some strange reason those words brought me nothing but sadness, and a deep frustration because I desperately felt the need to go home, home to Africa. Feeling like I had to just suck it up and move on and be the brave girl I was brought up to be was just not enough. I wanted to feel that I was allowed to cry, to express and to just break down if I wanted to. Today his words were like a knife driving into my heart and all I wanted to do was sob like a baby and have my father hold me. So I sobbed until there was nothing left to cry.

And then it hit me. He always knew what to say, I just didn’t know exactly how to interpret his words or his way. He was right, if it doesn’t murder, in other words, if it isn’t intentional or supposed to cause you cruel unimaginable pain as murder normally would, then no, it shouldn’t matter. For everything there is some sort of solution, and if there isn’t, the only solution is to accept whatever has come. We all will die, and yes it isn’t pleasant or anything we all look forward to, but it is part of life and so are many things, with their pain and their sadness, good things have a balance of both happiness factors and sad factors. Life is beautiful like that, otherwise why else would a beautiful candle lighting up a darkened room be so calming and peaceful. It would serve no purpose in the light. It would hold no beauty. Likewise, so are so many things in life sweetened by the saltiness. Summer isn’t appreciated well enough if one hasn’t experienced the bitter cold. Love would not be love if it held no pain, though the pain should be bearable, not murderous, when it becomes cruel and onesided, then it ceases to hold value.

So I guess I will have to agree and say thank you dad, for once again showing me the light, for it is in your absence that your words give me peace and comfort when I need you once more. If it doesn’t murder, it doesn’t matter, and really it doesn’t…

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