On that day when we'd sat, side by side, swinging on my patio, staring at 'my' mountain, rising into the sky, I was held spellbound by the voice of Mom's memory, speaking aloud:
"One day, I arose from my bed, caught a look at you trailing after me and, seeing how woebegone you looked, it dawned on me that, before Janet, our entire world had revolved around you. As I knelt down and gathered you into my arms—you clung to me—and I realized how much you must have needed me. Gradually, because of that, I willed my spirit back to life."
As that's not always the case in every home
I was a fortunate child
I know of instances
When in the aftermath of tragic loss
The spirit depresses
Never to resuscitate its joie de vive
Little by little, joy returned to our home
And as children commonly take cues from their parents
My spirit bounced up
My joyful adventure through life resumed
And all seemed well
Except for that itch, which, for some mysterious reason
Refused to quit …
Suggesting there's lots more to this story which has yet to be told …
Refused to quit …
Suggesting there's lots more to this story which has yet to be told …
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