Monday, November 26, 2007
I have this really close friend, like a sister. I've never met her, never talked to her, and yet I know her and she knows me on a very deep level. We have walked the same path, hand in hand with our fathers. At the time my father and I were on this journey, I didn't know her, I was ahead of her by a few years. When I looked back, I heard this young woman speaking so honestly about the rocky terrain she was traveling, describing it so well, that it made me want to yell, "I've BEEN there, LOOK OUT, oh NO oh No oh No STOPPPP. GO BACKK. TURN AROUND."
But as anyone who's been down this road knows, there's no turning back. It's always forward, into the dark, we stumble along gripping our father's hand.
By the time we let go, we are holding onto a shadow. We are hand in hand with a body, a bit of a soul, and a fragment of memory. We look and can't recognize the man who taught us to ride bikes, count money, operate a car. The man who gave us away to our husbands. In our hand we hold the past, memory passes through our fingers, winding its way to our hearts.
There are over 5 million voices now. It breaks my heart to hear the familiar sound as one passes.