My grandpa was a child during the Great Depression.
He was the youngest of twelve.
His mother died after he was born.
In his early 20's; an alcoholic with what
would now be considered a sex addiction,
a wife, and a child.
He tried to kill himself twice;
once was with poison.
The other time he shot himself in the chest.
Aside from the alcohol.
Then he found god, returned home a saved man,
made a happy loving marriage. Had three more children.
Became a preacher. Devoted his life to god, family,
and the church, in loosely that order.
He died happy, an old man.
Nearly 100 years later, and yet another depression.
With each step I take forward, I slide back two.
Just like my grandfather did.
My grandmother died of Parkinson's disease.
My other grandmother died of Alzheimer's.
Even as a child, I always trembled and shook.
Going to sleep, I can feel the memories,
my life, my mind, slipping, slowly erasing itself.
It's worse every year.
But, I am grateful for being able to forget.
Because I have not had an honorable life.
And only recently have I begun to figure out
what it means to be a good person.
God saved my grandfather.
But now, a century later,
the echo's of the past grow louder.
In me, my genes, my life.
Their addictions, their issues, their legacy's.
But this is a different time;
there is no god to save me
from myself. And with each step forward
I slip farther back into the past
following in their footsteps.