THREE LITTLE ROCKS
I opened my big mouth in my writing group and suggested we go back to writing with a prompt word. The word to end the year is Vulnerable. Well hell.
I have an uncanny sixth sense about things. Sometimes, I just know things. Call it intuition. I explain it like this....Think of your life as a parade. You are in control of your parade and you are standing at the street corner conducting it. That view lets you see about one block of the parade that has passed and the one blocks worth that is coming. You are busy arranging everything in your parade constantly. Sometimes you get your elephants in front of your marching band because you cannot see that far ahead. Sometimes...just sometimes...I see lots more of your parade.
If I could have seen my parade on June 3rd, I would have blown my whistle and made it all stop for just a little bit. I would have walked around and admired the floats....noticed the colors...listened to the band play one more fast song. I would have figured out what to do with the one clown that is in my parade. And then, even though I would not want to, I would have blown the whistle again to get it all started. Because the parade always has to move forward.
But it is always cloudy when I try to see my own parade.
The day started with a sleeveless top and three rocks. It was a normal warm day in June. Just a normal day. There was a top in my closet that I had never worn and I chose that day to wear it. Cute little top. I had to leave my vehicle at the shop for them to repair a water hose. Ester was coming by the shop to pick me up. I looked down while I was waiting for her and saw these three little rocks. For some strange reason, I was drawn to those rocks. So much so that I picked them up and dropped them into my purse. Ester picked me up. I look back now and see how things were arranged just so. Ester, whom I trust with my heart, picked me up. I was not alone that morning. We had driven a few blocks when my brother called and told me.
Nothing has been normal since that phone call.
He has told me that he hated making that phone call. I am glad it was him that told me. He was the one my mother called. My brother was the one to cover my daddy's body. I find that oddly comforting.
My heart fell out of my body and I have been carrying it around in my hands ever since. Vulnerable.
The time since there has been a whirl wind. I have settled matters that I did not know that I could have handled. I have traveled. I have learned. I have taken risk and chances that I would never in this world imagined taking. I have gone in to counseling. I have made friends. I have lost friends. I have tried to make peace with knowing that my clown will never ever love me or approve of me. I have celebrated. I have cried. I am learning to live.
But it has been a constant balance between walking on egg shells and walking on air.
I have learned that life is to damned fucking short to hide. We have to live it. In the mean time, I am carrying this heart of mine around...still in my hands. I don't know how to put it back inside of me.
I sent the cute top to GoodWill. The top I wore to the funeral? I got rid of that one too.
The three little rocks? They are in my nightstand. I still have them. I still think they have a story to tell.
this little light of mine....I'm going to let it shine....