I have in my possession a stone that is half one
kind of material and half another kind of material. The materials clearly did not attempt to mix
together. They simply stuck
together. One of the materials is quartz
and I think the other half is granite.
Normally, I am interested in how and why a thing came
to be, how it managed its colors, and so forth.
I am, however, more interested in the idea of this particular
stone than I am the science underlying it.
While I suppose it might be pleasant to know whether the atoms at the
line of division are joyously dancing together or whether they are coupled
together in a stony version of war, I find my emotional response to the stone
more notable.
My view of the stone changes from day to day. On a bright day, I might pick up the stone
and think: “Look here, a perfect marriage.”
On a darker day, emotionally speaking, I may take up the stone and
think: “Here, then, is what a country divided looks like.”
The stone is unchanging, mind you. This is me—on a very small scale—pushing reality
with my own perspective.
The other day, I picked up the stone and suddenly
experienced one of those gut-twisting, all-consuming pangs of missing my
long-gone wife. For an instant I wanted
to throw the stone through the nearest window.
The stone is still there in my den as I write this.
Posted today is a photograph of the stone.
What do you see?
--Mitchell Hegman
Every memory of a beloved spouse who has passed on is both uplifting and gut-wrenching. Still, there is in retrospect a kind of wonder at how much our lives were blessed by our loved ones not only when they were still breathing but even after they've gone when the full impact of how they've enriched our lives and spirits hits us head on, not once and not twice but repeatedly for as long as we live here, now and beyond.
ReplyDeleteI am in gratitude for my gentle Michael.
I am feel gratitude for both Uyen and Michael. We would all have been great friends in this life.
ReplyDelete