Just a hint of jingle bells, the rest was rustling leaves. Just a smidge of holiday, the rest was preparation. Just a sprinkling of arguments for when Christmas music plays, but mostly welled-up hearts just waiting for the lights.
But in between this holiday, the noise we all know well, were women walking everywhere with burdens hard to bear. Hunched low with breaking backs, their Christmas trees dragged behind and little kids ran vibrant, free. Hunched low with breaking backs their Thanksgiving tables beautifully set for empty, childless homes. Hunched low with breaking backs the music plays aloud, but the loneliness beats louder. Continue reading
Our home has been been forged in memories, tears, laughter, sorrow, hope…and yes, even heartache. My load is heavy tonight, the sorrow is in every exhale. I hold the box too heavy to bear, and I shove it to the darkest corner that I can find. This is how I feel. My muscles ache from the load, but my arms are alive with the pain.
I shut the door to the closet I hate, the place I wish to tear from the house, but it’s the room that has to stay. I find more hard things to box up and put away. I cram, I shove, I stuff…I hide it all from view.
The closet door shuts again.
And it opens.
And it shuts.
Again and again and again.
She asked, Where did the time go? So I took her to the prettiest house on the block. I opened the door and I told her to go before me. We found time in the small living room with worn blue recliners and an ugly brown couch. We saw time in the conversations that could only be heard in memories.
We saw time sitting in the six chairs that surrounded the dining table. We saw time in a marriage that was faithful and sure. We saw time in a Christmas tree that was put up and taken down so many years that we still can’t remember every Christmas holiday lived. We just know they all happened.
She asked, Where did the time go? So I took her down the hallway where there were childhood dreams and a bedroom both covered in tears and laughter. I took her to the bathroom where time became hard-working responsibility. I took her to the closets, the desks, the drawers, the coffee table, the kitchen, the laundry room, and every little corner had time stuffed in between. Time that couldn’t be touched, but somehow it could still touch us. Continue reading