Ernest Hemingway wrote that before killing himself at the age of 62.
I love Hemingway ... his extraordinary writing and the way he lived his life, except for the end.
I used to believe him right ... that we can all be strong in the broken places ... that we can overcome ... God will heal ... like a Phoenix we will rise ... but now I know it's a lie.
There is another great piece of writing that I think is closer to the truth.
"And all the King's Horses and all the King's Men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty together again."
Sitting in a McDonald's I watch a fat woman yawn while reading the Newspaper, a flamboyant gay couple tenderly attend to one another as they split a sausage biscuit and a tall thin man order food to go but quickly eats it before he makes it outside.
"I am weak but he is strong" is an unending loop playing in my head and I know the first part is certainly true but can find no real evidence of the second part.
I can pinpoint the general era when I was broken and now know that it wasn't any one thing or a particular person or group that did ... it really doesn't matter ... but I broke ... and there's no strength in broken places ... King's Horses and King's Men or Jesus himself can't put it back to the way it used to be.
Not that I want it to be like it was because I don't.
Like most I exaggerate the fond memories and minimize the bad ones trying to prove I've done pretty good getting to this point ... though the reality is no one really cares.
Last night, sitting at the dinning room table, after several frustrating days ... I broke again but this time it was to let Sarah in.
My wife is a strong woman and won't be denied entry and, though it's taken a while and circumstances conspire against us, I let her in ... to wander where she will ... to touch every hurt, failure and loss that make me who I am today.
I've never done that before and now, sitting in McDonald's, I feel open and exposed as the fat woman stares at me intently ... the gay couple whisper as their eyes dart my way ... and the tall think man pretends to pick crumbs from his tee shirt while glances towards where I'm sitting.
I don't mind.
I am here because Cassidy, our 8 year old, asked if I would meet her for lunch at her school. I was mad at her the other day and let her know so she knew I was angry and she's a wickedly smart child who knows childhood selfishness caused it ... so she blows off her Mom and Dad and asks me to join her for lunch.
I'm supposed to do other things but I couldn't say "No" so I blew them off ... as important as they are ... and am killing time until I walk into an Elementary School lunchroom so we can ... I don't know ... heal each other .... say "I love you" without saying it.
I think I'm finally becoming honest at the broken places.
And know there are those who still believe in me ... in spite of them.
