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Saturday, August 27, 2011

Walking at Daybreak

It's daybreak and I'm walking with Boomer a few blocks from home. The sky is just beginning to turn from black to gray when I notice this house. A simple house. A common kind of house built in the 1940's. Single story. Gabled foyer with an arched oak front door with a high little window. The outside light is still burning. The newspaper lies folded near the step. The lawn is soft with morning dew and neatly manicured. Pots of inpatients bloom near the doorway. And it all looks so.... so normal.

I can imagine someone coming out that front door. Wearing slippers and a robe. Retrieving that morning paper. Retreating back inside for a cup of coffee and a leisurely read....

And I stand there with Boomer. Just staring at that door. Remembering.

Remembering the time when the paper laid by our front step and the lawn was neatly manicured and flowers bloomed in pots on our front porch. When it was me who slipped out in slippers and a robe and snatched the morning paper and then spent a leisurely hour drinking coffee and reading the paper, in bed,  with Bob.

He always grabbed the front page. I started with the Arts & Literature section. He read every article. Me, I skimmed a lot. He did the crossword. I read the comics.

Right now, Bob is singing softly in his hospital bed. Singing to a tune on the radio. I write this while I wait for Chris to come over, so that I can rush to the pharmacy to drop off a prescription then to the grocery store, then back to the pharmacy and then home again. Ripley sits on my computer printer. Out the window there is no newspaper on our doorstep. The lawn is overgrown. The flower pots are empty. Litter blows down the sidewalk.

And I think of that other house. The normal one. And sometimes I just wish.... I wish... I wish...


6 comments:

barbpolan said...

This entry made me cry. I too spend time in the past because of what could have been. The present is just so hard, but improving every day.

Anonymous said...

Such a wonderful read. I can identify with everything you wrote. It sure brough a tear to my eye as you closed.
Caring1 (Dan)

Jenn said...

Dear Diane. You ARE writing. Blog. Novel. Essay. This piece took me right there, with you, even in your shoes.
Now I've to blow my nose, dab my tears.
Again...you are beautiful.

Hasna said...

I cried reading this! Still am. I know what you felt.

Hasna said...

I cried reading this. This brought that feeling of deja vu. I know what you felt. Coz I feel the same too... but only when somehow my errant mind climbs up & crosses the high wall that I have erected between the present and the past... Delving in the past is taboo for me from now on.

Linda said...

Oh Diane, I wish I could just give you a big hug. Stay strong .. life will get better.

Linda