So, I was reading through the various blogs that I either follow, or happen to pop up because of a linked blog, and there was a story preceding a poem about three seconds and how that can change everything. Strange but true, and now what?
I was driving along today and a song came on Pandora by Garth Brooks, “The Dance”. If you aren’t familiar with this song check it out on youtube. After I lost my husband last year I used to hear this all the time on my way to and from work and each time I heard it I cried. “I could have missed the pain, but I’d have missed the dance”. The pain of losing my husband is so bad yet I wouldn’t trade my life with him for even a second. I think about him every day and although I have a male friend, a boyfriend, it doesn’t make the pain lessen. For all those who judge, don’t worry I would take my husband back in a heartbeat if I could.
The three second story though hit me harder, because of my son. Unlike Roth Poetry, my son’s accident ended miserably. I don’t write this to make anyone feel bad. I guess I just needed to express that those three seconds for one person are so different for someone else. How can it be?
As I walk along I see the broken twigs across this leaf covered path. This path used to guide a dirt bike, whether through dry dirt or soft mud, winding up into the trees, circling back down, and ending at the edge of the yard.
Now the path is covered. It has not been disturbed in months. It will never be ridden through again, no dirt bike to crush the sticks and leaves underneath. This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence, that leaves a path to settle forever.
Once upon a time there was a regular family that lived in a regular house with a regular dog. There was a regular mother, regular father, and two regular kids. This family did regular things like going to regular movies and taking regular vacations. One day something happened and the regular family changed. On this day the regular mother got a really good job at a bank so now she was a banker. On this day the regular father got a really good job building houses and now he was a builder. On this day both children went to play with friends in their neighborhood and were now playmates.
With the world turned up it was easy to see that being regular was easier.
Good morning! Today I have a special event. I am going to a painting class with my father. Pastels, I believe. I am wearing a white shirt! We shall see what the results are, my shirt or the picture I produce. One should be nice! I will be posting later to share my artwork…Brave of me to say since I have no idea how it will come out but now I have to show the world…