Wise Words

IMG_5630

At the Galleria dell’Accademia, Florence, Italy

Date: Monday, 6 November 2002 9:34am ET
To: Rose.Tuesday
From: Smith.Ken
Subject: we shall

Although it may seem like a never ending battle as the harder you try, you are still finding yourself in the same predicament, let it be known that I do understand what you are feeling and going through. This is the time to be mentally and physically strong, reevaluate and structure another plan of action and never quit or look down, for only they are other beneficiaries. So, look deep inside yourself and pull out that strength device on your pocket, the person you are and carried on. Do not let it be said that you were beaten by the whip of the pen but the straps of your soul.

P.S. An email sent to me years ago that still fittingly resonating today. By the way, I wonder if John’s number is still active.

A Grasshopper That Wasn’t

486772_4893510367844_2141503980BPhnom Penh, Cambodia

It was hot, scorching making an omelette hot when she walked in wearing a winter jacket. Granted it felt refrigerated in the tiny chapel and even though, the air was blasting, she wasn’t feeling it as her face looked sultry, red from the sweat.

Anguish pierced through her face as she was acting strange, walking mercifully slow like a grasshopper, going through the motions mechanically like a mummy.

Dragging like a methodic robot commanded from afar, never cracking a smile, she took her time getting to the chair. Never quivering, strolling like a walking dead, always looking up straight at whatever infinite, she looked desponded, stoic.

I wondered what was pestering her as she kneeled close to me but quickly set that aside as we were in church, praying, venerating God, was what we were there for.

We stayed a while, I doing the rosary with the rest of the peeps and she continuously looking beyond, piercing the altar to the Holy Sacrament, as if looking for some kind of validation, a solution to her suffering that never came.

None of us at the time had an answer for her but many disposed of a tool that could bring her some peace and comfort, prayers.

The rosary was over and she was still looking confused and dazed. Reflecting.

I stood up to leave but she stayed put. She did not blink but I needed to leave. She was looking down, mummified, her face ambiguous, fatigued transmitting through.

I wanted to hug her but was scared out of my wits to even try, witless she would shove me off and pull my back against the wall. Still standing, bewildered, a bit perturbed yet intrigued.

I was still wondering about the broken being, when I heard convulsive hurried sounds to realize they were… sniffles. I looked down and there she was shaking, moaning quietly, unengineered tear drops genuinely pouring down her face in avalanche and she impotent to wipe them off. They were coming from a place of discomfort, hurt and she needed not to utter it to me, I felt it. I figure this much, as tears put it all in perspective. Without uninvited details, I knew something was heavy and planting its seed and, there wasn’t a thing I could do.

I left the church that day, troubled, insects cocooning through my brain, disappointed I did not reach out to her. I hoped she found comfort in the prayers and healed her heart. I have been there. I know how it feels and how life stories can incredibly creep up on you, make a salad out of you and you are too exhausted to even sneeze.

It is never easy to mend a troubled heart but one can conquer wonders with the grace of the Almighty. I hope she is somewhere today, looking straight at the infinite, smiling at the skies and counting her blessings just because someone was listening that day and not judging her grieving soul.