When I was a little girl my mom used to read a poem to me. She said it was in short, a summary of our travels in life with the Lord. She related to it and in turn taught me to relate to it. Like once when I was down… because that stupid girl Missy Barns pushed me off of the monkey bars and broke my arm, Mom came to the emergency room and started reciting the poem. She also got me a sticker doll book.
Anyways… today I found this little root cellar. I went down inside. I remember when I was small I was always scared of our cellar. It smelled old and it was always dark. I didn’t really think about that until I was down inside of this one and turning over boxes trying to find something useful. It’s kinda weird what 2 years can change in this world. I didn’t even think about NOT going down there until I was sitting on my butt cracking open a can of tuna. T U N A, not catfood. It’s the little things right? But anyways, I looked around and saw some muddy footprints headin towards the steps and it got me to thinking about things in general.
Sometimes it’s hard for me to put all of my thoughts together. I get sorta cagey and I don’t let myself remember the things I miss most, because I can’t afford to cry. But I remembered the poem. Most of it anyways, and I thought of my mom again. A lot of people say… oh gosh, I wish my wife could be here with me. Or they talk about their kid. But when I think of my mom, as much as I miss her, I think I’m glad she’s not here. I wouldn’t want her to see me like this. I think she’d give me that look that she gave the dog when he came home with a lamb leg. I mean what good is a herding dog if it kills the sheep.
The thing about mom’s poem is… the only footprints next to mine are Burns. And Burn wont carry me if I get the sickness. She’ll just put a bullet in my head, like the dog.4