I drove the wrong way home tonight. To be honest it isn’t the first time this has happened. This week stirred up some old feelings filled with pain, grief and sorrow.
Another confession -I often have “stranger-than-fiction moments” you know the ones in which there is a narrator speaking as if my life is a book.
Tonight this started with the music of a melancholy grunge band. This was oddly comforting. What followed was that strange yet familiar voice that says” here she goes again down that same old familiar road back home”. Grief is a strange bedfellow and often the night creeps into the day. On such days the remnants and ghosts of yesterday seem very much alive and well.
The home that many of us return to isn’t a structure it often can’t be pinned down to a location on the contrary. Home might be familiar, strangely disguised as the oh too familiar feeling that makes you feel swept away and off guard.
” Here we are again” says the voice in the darkness of night
Here we are alone with the music from another room pounding and pulsating in our ears and chest .
The night confessions begin like a prayer that is mumbled and a cry in the night that only God hears.
The night confessions are a grounding and calm before another day of storms.
So it is and so it begins.
The waves rise and crash.
“Tomorrow is a new day’ a voice whispers a voice that is strangely my own.
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