My Parent's House

It seemed to me to be one of those places where time stopped, and no matter what you do, or where you go, something about it will always be the same. It is as if time has been altered in some way to my own disbelief and will never begin again. But life will, and it will enter in and out of this little home for years to come.

  In that moment, when I'm all grown up and I've been away from home, I pull up into the drive way of my parent’s house, a song playing on my car stereo, I jump out of the car to hug my mother, looking around, I see how nothing has changed, but for the age on my mother’s face and the tired look in her eyes.

And as time halts, and life continues, I wonder, does life slowly fade out, like a fire burning into coals, until it’s a small, quiet lingering on this earth? Or does it come again? Does it reawaken to the love around it, and grow tender again, and warm, and alive? And if so why? And if not, what happens next in this race we call life? 

Maybe what never seems to change is the welcoming feeling in my heart that even when life does move on, there are people who will love me through whatever I do and wherever I go, and I am in their hearts, and they are in mine, and, together, we learn what love is, we learn how to live, and we find out whether life can come alive again.

Jar Of Rocks

I miss Mikey. The jar of rocks he gave me is sitting in the back of my closet, like all the memories of us praying for each other, crying, and the times we bluntly reminded each other of the truth. Him and all those stupid rocks. He was almost possessive of them, making me promise that I'd take care of them, telling me how important they were. He always said that once I left I wouldn't come back, but I did. I did come back, but he was gone.

Some people never get to say goodbye, but the Lord knows and He sees them, and somehow it makes it okay. So we move on and live life and keep things like jars of rocks in our closets. 

Some things we may never understand, but some things we will hold onto forever. 

Rest in peace, Uncle Mikey. Thank you for sharing your life with me.