I attended the funeral of a dear old friend this past week. It’s always difficult to say goodbye, even though physical distance had made regular visits fewer than they had been in the past. Illness, too. The memories of nearly forty years of friendship being all that’s left, and knowing the years ahead are fewer than the years behind make life these days sobering. Too many good ones are leaving. It’s a fate for all of us. A sense of melancholy is hitting me pretty hard right now; I’m also very tired.
Into the Woods
(By Veronica Randolph Batterson; ©Veronica Randolph Batterson)
There’s an empty bridge
Beckoning
Offering what you will make of it.
Into the woods
To escape the realities
Of the somebodies using the nobodies.
To clear your mind
Of the unfairness
That “lesser” women and men
Being used by the Big Man and Big Woman is the norm
That life doesn’t always give fair shakes,
Regardless of how hard you work and sacrifice.
There’s an empty bridge
Beckoning
Offering what you will make of it.
Into the woods
To take deep breaths
While getting angry,
And screaming with tears, cursing the skies above.
Plotting revenge
Or reconciling acceptance,
Acknowledging that Grace over spite
Is being an adult,
As is offering kindness to people who don’t deserve it.
