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Riding Backwards

Yesterday, I spent a lot of the day staring out our living room window. Once again, a hauntingly familiar view. It was out this window I’d watch for his car to come down the street, admire the first snow fall. The window I’d stare out and picture Vienna playing on the tiny front lawn, chalk in the driveway. The window I’d deliriously look out during the 2am feeding and enjoy the quiet peace of the street lamp and sleepy houses. Yesteray it rained. My staring didn’t extend much beyond the soaked glass. I watched each rain drop as it hit and unhurriedly rolled down, slowing at some points, blending with others but always hitting the bottom and washing away. Like each drop was a memory, a part of the view and no matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t stay, couldn’t last forever. And so, per usual, it made me think.

Ya know, when you’re riding backward on the train and for a split second, the view out your window is clear and focused. The colors vibrant, sounds loud, often familiar. You don’t have to rely on your memory. It’s all there in front of you. But then, just as quickly as it came, it becomes a blur of colors and waves. The details are vague, distorted and your memory starts to become tested. And after only mere minutes, it’s no longer clear, it’s not even a blur. It’s simply gone. The scene that was so close, a moment ago at your fingertips, is now replaced with a haze of colors and sounds you’ve never experienced before.

This feels a lot like loss, like my current grief. Before, my train was stopped, the picture strong, the colors distinct, sounds unclouded. All of it was in my reach. I was in control. I may not have known my destination, but my home station was solid and all my passengers were seated next to me for the ride. Until one day, in an instant, my train jerked forward at 180 miles an hour and I can’t stop it, I can’t get off. I didn’t buy this ticket, this one way and now, a round trip ticket is never an option again. The train keeps moving forward while my eyes burn, my head spins and my heart ache as they desperately look for the view that was. The seats around me are filled with family and friends and for that I’m forever thankful. But the seat right next to me, it’s empty. My person, my passenger is gone.

Most days, I’m sitting still in my seat, the energy to move not there. But no matter how still I sit, the train of life keeps moving. The scene out my window keeps passing and I can’t stop it. Everyday, I’m sitting backwards on a moving train.

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1 commentaire

Meg, you just brought me to tears once again...your journey may not be the one you planned on but Joe is with you and Vienna ALL THE WAY! I know that doesnt help - it doesnt help me when people say it about my dad either but getting it out through all these beautiful stories you're sharing will hopefully make the runaway train seem somewhat in your control. Love you, friend

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