Part 2~

The opportunity to fall back in time, to face him, the questions lined up in rapid fire, the judgements already sealed, words tattooed upon the woman’s heart .  Its every pump, sending forth doubt, frantic searches to find the missing puzzle piece, the never-ending search for an answer to the question, Did you love me?  An answer to the why.  There had been time to prepare the words and wonder, the unsettled musing about, the shedding of tears.  Journeying back in time, the woman rediscovered the place where the stars crossed, the point that they had started from.  It became her only way to find inner peace and a desperate sense of belonging.  Journey back to the beginning of the story.  Mine and scrape the mire off of hope, dreams, and love.  This became the quest.

The woman discovered that the story begins with family strength.  Many generations of men and women struggling to raise their families, surviving the cruelest moments that life has a way of tossing out.  Families living with a strong faith, guided by a belief that their God would provide, in time.  Patience.  It started with love; actions such as the scrapped pieces of poetry, carefully cut from the newspapers, glued into a now tattered book, dedicated to the man.  A mother’s enduring love for a son, the words on the page calling forth wishes, expressing sorrow, and hope. Belief and patience.  The unspoken words on the page, the silent messages of a mother’s undying love.

Did the man appreciate how much he was treasured; was the message softly spoken?  The woman wonders if the man knew his value.  Did the man realize the talents he possessed, the ability to see the details, an eye that could create and fix, rendering works of beauty and function?  Did the man realize that he was good enough? Did the man lose his heart?

There was so much the woman could have said; so many questions to ask.  What was the point?  It is what it is.  It is not what should have been.  The woman and the man both know that fact. The woman stepped forth and took the man’s hand.  The touch screaming the words that she could not express, the questions unimportant now. I love you, dad. For that is all that truly matters.

6 Comments on “Fall Back

  1. I’m fascinated by the poetry pieces from the newspapers!

    • My grandmother, Alice, had a book that she filled with snippets, poems, quotes, short stories, which were published in the local newspaper. I am guessing that she began the book in the 1930s. What I find fascinating is that I can read the poems and instantly I am inside her head; I know what she is thinking about and who she is thinking of, for each piece that is glued into the little book of treasures, was carefully selected. The book appears to follow a loose timeline. My grandmother loved pansies, cats, and dogs. There are many poems about those topics along with writings of the war and the Great Depression. Parenting musings were given dedicated pages in the book, particularly captivating to her, were the poems of mothers and sons. I am so grateful to have discovered the little book of words and to have saved it. A love for words, a love for dolls, all originating from another’s heart. Interesting, how life sends us what we need.

      • Beautiful and true. Ah, I love that she kept the book . . . for you to have.

      • Well, yes, she kept the book; I found it! Still, she will be smiling down that I managed to find and keep it!
        x

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atkokosplace

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deepspiritleading

Reflections on spirituality in everyday life

Minister Is A Verb

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Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems

My books: https://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM

The thinking girl's guide to life

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I'm a Writer, Yes, I Am!

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