Sadness
hangs like a shroud around my shoulders, draping over my back and puddling on
the floor at my feet. The hood of this cloak hangs low veiling my face and when
I try to walk the fabric tangles in my feet. It is the heaviest material I’ve
ever known to exist. It resists every movement, draining precious energy from
my exhausted limbs.
Saturday,
God poured something into me as I lay beneath His display of majesty and my
shoulders lifted under the cloak. Whether they knew it or not, hundreds of
people ducked under this shroud of darkness and helped me lift it enough to
raise my sagging head. And I danced… for Damon.
Today,
that miraculous strength is waning and the shroud is resettling itself around
my body. It’s hard to breathe, hard to think, nearly impossibly painful to
remember what it felt like to hold him in my arms. Emptiness returns.
But I
got a breath…
No comments:
Post a Comment