October 14, 2020
Continued from A Man Named Joshua.
The Long Journey Home.
She drove for hours letting the distance between them sink deep into her body.
Worn out, she turns up an old country road, passes a few colorful mailboxes and finally (with an inhale) arrives at her destination; the late autumn sun casts a warm glow through the kitchen window. She is home.
Home: a tidy well kept cottage in the woods with an old split rail fence and a porch swing.
This would be for a time her refuge from a world she could no longer recognize.
The dissolution of marriage, not a thing to be taken lightly, affecting both family and friends–the breakdown of the home, disrupting the community–but how can one stay…?
Love can’t be forced.
And in the heat of the argument (oh how they know each other’s raw tender spots!) she finally erupts, “So divorce me if then you are unhappy!”
Set me free.
This is how she came to be, standing alone at the front door of an empty house, recalling kind words offered to her in support by a trusted colleague.
Words that for her now become prayer.
“It’s time to pick my heart. I have the key, forward will be the momentum. One step in front of the other, my heart will go on!”*
With key in hand, she unlocks the door as the last light of day rounds the corner. Exhausted, putting one foot in front of the other, she collapses inside, whispering (to no one but herself) as she falls into a deep sleep, “my heart will go on…”
Thank you for reading. Your thoughts are always welcome here.
*Thank you, Warren.