He laid there, the immense pain in his chest beginning to numb under the realization that he was dying. Just moments before he was alive, enjoying the morning with his beloved, laughing about the memories they had created the night before. Now, he was sprawled out on the living room floor fighting for air, and wanting so desperately to talk.
I could not look down for fear of seeing where I was heading. I could not look up because, well, “up” had rejected me. All I knew was at this moment I was married to this piece of glass, and if that glass wouldn’t accept me all I could do is try to accept it and hang on for fear of falling into the abyss.
I look around in my box, this place I have built for myself that somehow feels safe. As the storm rages out there I see the beginnings of truth. This box is painful. Each piece of timber laid, each window set, each nail driven a testament to pain.
The sky seems bluer today. As you stare into what is not truly blue, it dawns on you that “this too shall pass”. This wonderfully blue, not-truly-blue sky will again became enraged by the clouds it nurses to life. The winds will blow and the rains shall pour. Lightning will strike and thunder will roll. Yet, you sit still observing this storm as you had the blue skies that gave it life. “This too shall pass.”
