i had fought the tears for so many years
not wanting to go back to that moment in time
leaving home, angry, frustrated and hurt
i felt freedom at last
forgiving what i had considered unforgivable
loving the old man i was leaving
and looking forward to
when we would meet again..
Inga Larsson sipped the last of her tea. She savored each drop and she knew that she had a big day ahead of her. She had just returned from her beloved country of Sweden to say her final goodbyes to her dear mother. Though her heart grieved she had made a commitment to plan and prepare for the annual Christmas lunch at the Food Pantry. She would do her best to set aside sadness to fulfill her obligation. She still had to find a few more volunteers to decorate and someone to provide music for the festivities. While Hank Johnson was devoid of color in his life, Inga was all about color.
She would soon turn sixty-four and she vowed that she would never let age deter her from being active. As a retired nurse, it afforded her a comfortable lifestyle. Having never married, she traveled to far off places and wanted to experience as much as possible, but always with God’s final ok on her decision-making. She was not one to sit on the fence of life and watch it go by. It was December first and time to get cracking. Of all her years of eating oatmeal for breakfast seemed to give her enough energy to run miles around those half her age. She reminisced a moment about her lovely mother. She had been a woman of strength and character. She had a beautiful heart and had always given over and beyond when it came to helping those in need.
In her mind her mother was an angel. She glanced at the clock and realized that it would soon be time to meet with the director of the House of Hope and work out some of the details. She laughed as she looked at Mitt. Mitten had been a stray kitten that Inga had coaxed into her home by feeding her.
In a wave of emotion, Hank had laid the letter on Mollie’s worn bible. Having it visible brought him some comfort. Her quiet time in the morning had always been her first priority. She did her best to be up before the birds and before the pitter- patter of little feet could be heard, and she continued this practice into the teenage years of their children. Thanksgiving Day went by like any other day. The pain in his right shoulder, instigated by too many falls off horses in his younger years had caught up with him. No amount of whiskey or Ben Gay brought relief. He settled himself in his easy chair and prepared for what might come from reading the letter.
He had been afraid to read the contents, and as he slowly read each word of the sweet simple letter, years of pent-up emotion spilled out like a dam that had burst. The tears came from the depth of his soul where nothing, nor no one could reach in the past few years. After a matter of minutes he was able to gain his composure and took in a few deep breaths. He felt as though a weight had been lifted and a sense of peace overcame him. So, Kayleigh and Libby were following in their grandpa’s footsteps. He recalled the times he played the fiddle for the girls when they were just toddling about, sometimes following him into his workshop where he spent numerous hours building and repairing violins.
He had not been in the shop for years. When Mollie departed, he lost interest in music, his reason for living was gone. Gone was the laughter, the singing and the smell of bread baking in the old stove. Why, he had asked God over and over again. Hearing of his granddaughter’s interest in music sparked a light within him that hadn’t been there for a long time.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
Before Hank called it a day, he decided to check his mailbox. There was rarely anything worth even checking for except for the normal bills. But, since there would be no mail the next day, he hiked to his mailbox and pulled out a small assortment of envelopes and headed back home.
He sat down in his rocker, the same one Mollie had used to rock and soothe their babies. Two boys and one girl. As he scanned the mail, one of the envelopes caught his eye. It appeared to be written by a child. Although written in cursive, the slant of his name was much exaggerated. He looked at the return address and it said, Abby Brown. He was shocked! He had heard nothing from his daughter for three years. His hand began to shake and his heart began to pound. He got up to get his glass and fill it up before he opened the letter. He couldn’t bring himself to open it. All of a sudden a wave of remorse hit him.
The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child shall lead them.
The prompt for today is use a word or words from the Fall Word Bank. To participate you can link with Kellie Elmore at Free Write Friday.
For my new sweater
Cause I have a date
To sit in my comfy wicker chair
And take in the aroma of Fall in the air
Hot cocoa, just thinking of you
Warms my heart
As only you do..
Amber, golds and browns
the best of nature’s foliage around
Could you please jump-start
For I am eager to see Autumns art..
dreams in the desert
that’s where they lay
beat down by the sun
each and every day..
left alone to whither
and eventually die
if not brought to life
by the will to survive…
thunderclouds are needed
to form and burst
moisture is needed to quench the thirst
time for dreams to take flight
for dreams to be seen and come back in sight..