My Heart Has Not Been With Me

My heart has not been with me, these past few days. Today, especially, it's been absent, having attended, through a wandering of the spirit, the celebrations of two very different lives.

One of them was a man in his eighties who for years walked an obedient white dog down Eastwood streets, raised athletic sons and chauffered elderly Sisters of St. Francis around town before retiring, frail and tired, to the pillows and blankets still piled on the sheltered porch behind his house.

The other was a man barely in his fifties, a beloved coach, husband and father who, it is persistently rumored, lost his battle with depression over the past weekend.

My heart is with them both: my heart is the white dog following its dead master, having met him at the gate where all souls enter and leave; my heart is the red blood poured out on a concrete floor by the one that no longer aches...

LPK
LiveJournal
9.16.2009