Shawn and I tried to stay away from absolutes. We tried to stay away from using the word “always” in our conversations or disagreements. (Ironically, this didn’t always work, hence the word "tried".)
You always stretch the truth.
You always look at the negative.
You always make us late.
We tried to work on the present situation.
You seem to be stretching the truth a bit tonight.
You seem to be scrutinizing this situation more critically than usual.
Today we were late.
After death I find myself constantly wanting to use absolutes.
He always listened.
He was always patient.
He was always kind.
He always communicated well.
He was the smartest man.
He was the strongest man.
He was the most tender-hearted man.
He always treated me well.
He always loved me.
If Shawn were here, he may correct me.
He listened a lot.
He was patient most of the time.
He was kind most of the time.
He worked to communicate well.
He was the smartest man I ever knew.
He was the strongest man I ever knew.
He was the most tender-hearted man I ever knew.
He treated me the best he knew how and that was very well.
He always loved me.
He always loved me. Now there is a certain absolute. He always loved me. No matter what anyone says; he always loved me. It may appear like I am trying to convince myself of this fact. It’s not that. I just wanted to write it out. I just wanted to remind myself that there are some things on this earth that are conclusive, definite, untouched by death: he always loved me.
