This morning the rain started as soon as we pulled out of the garage. Then once we hit the highway the sky was still dark, as if it was still night and not early morning, and the rain began to smack the windshield; banging against the glass.
I tried to ignore it and the cars flying by us, their speeds in no way indicative of the hazards that water and blacktop could imagine if not taken seriously. I closed my eyes and attempted sleep and then I opened them again to check my phone in the wake of feeling guilty that I was not taking full advantage of the extra twenty-five minutes the phone app had added to our trip. But even that proved fruitless. My brain and body were tired. Social media would only add to that kind of exhaustion.
So I hoisted my tablet into my lap and typed out the password offering me passage into my latest read. My eyes focused and within a minute I was immersed before I knew it, lost among the characters and their lives.
One reason I love television is related to this. I enjoy getting caught up in someone else’s life, their narrative. I don’t watch reality TV, instead I am slave to the scripted drama and my DVR is full of hour after hour of well written and acted shows that take a peek into a plethora of emotions, relationships and idiosyncrasies.
I have so many stories swirling in my head lately. Some are purely fiction and they fight with nap time and homework time, soccer time and DVR time for the right to haul me over to the computer to express themselves.
But then there are the tales of my own life, the memoirs begging to be told. The stories, that when I am in company and spinning those yarns, hold my audience captive; hanging onto my words, tears springing to their eyes.
They are in.
And I feel strength and weakness all at once.
The stories in the wake of losing Ben are powerful things, they push and poke at me to write them down and share them.
Some of the stories are not mine to tell, they are, instead, like bowls of accompaniments passed down the table from one person to other until they end up on my plate sitting under my fork. And because of that they might be cold or just different by the time they found my mouth.
Yet, there are too many to ignore. Some bordering on the religious and others firmly planted in the simple, sacred world of perhaps it’s just coincidence that are shouting for their time.
So I’ve decided to tell them.
One by one, story by interlinking story, until they no longer sit only on my tongue but inside the hearts of the people who read them.
My amazing friends Mel and Michele (The Ketchup With Us Gals) are putting the top on their bottle and their link for a little while. But before they go they wanted us to link up, tell a story, admit we’re going to miss them and their outfits (I will!).
Starting next week I am going to share a story a week for four weeks about the amazing things that have happened since we lost Ben. Extraordinary and special things, comforting and peaceful and at times, even funny things.