Dear Reader,
Today I'm sharing another Honorable Mention story from this year's Write a DearReader Contest. Congratulations to Susan Johnson. Her story will touch your heart.
Shadows
I saw you again today, a quick flash, out of the corner of my eye. When I turned, you were gone, as I knew you would be. With a sigh, I allowed the sadness to creep in until I could fling it away, the wispy web clinging to the darker corners of my mind. How long must I endure these ephemeral flashes of shadow? After all, you have been gone six months now. These sightings are becoming less frequent at least. That makes me feel guilty somehow. As if my moving on diminishes the important place you once filled in my life.
I didn't understand just what you meant to me until the day of your passing. You had become almost a fixture in the household, a sofa or a lamp, but of flesh and blood. We grow so used to our loved ones being there that we don't pay as much attention to them as we should. Until one day you find yourself missing a piece of your heart.
That March day was surreal. As the family gathered on that final day, you were so quiet. I sensed fear but also a deep tiredness in you. It was time to cross that bridge. I hope you were ready. I certainly wasn't. After you were given the initial sedative, we were given time alone to say our goodbyes. There were no dry eyes in that room. When it came time for that last injection I wanted to be sure to get a last look at you. Stroking your side, I felt a shudder and then nothing more. I looked into your eyes until I felt you were gone.
Returning home without you was hard. We stopped for lunch first. Not just because we were hungry but also to distract from what we were all feeling. I'm certain other patrons could sense something was amiss. Surely they could see the pain in our eyes.
That first day was tough. Dad took care of your things, as I could not bear to look at them. They sit, still, in the garage. We had removed them from our everyday view but could not take that next step of either donating or tossing away.
The passing of the days has lessened the heartache. At first, I would see you in your usual places, always out of the corner of my eye. I wasn't the only one. The rest of the family sensed you too: the sound of your footsteps moving across the hardwood floors, the quick glimpses of your small form. Remember how I used to turn on the light to the bedroom as I made my way though it to the bathroom so I wouldn't accidentally step on you? In your old age, your hearing wasn't as good as it used to be so I couldn't count on you to move out of my way. For many weeks, I still had the urge to turn on that light and call out your name.
I thought I was doing pretty well until a week or so later I was cleaning out the bedroom wastebasket and found your hair clippings. A bit of madness took me as I caressed that softness to my cheek. Maybe I should keep some of it, I thought. No, that's a bit too weird. Besides, it wasn't the beautiful hair you once had. These were the clippings of the matted clumps your silky hair had become. You were not much for grooming those last few years. So, out they went.
Today, as I look at the photos we took of you over the years I recall those first few weeks when you earned your name by leaving behind the legs of the poor crickets that dared enter our home.
You took a piece of my heart with you, Cricket, but left a piece of yours with me.
Susan Johnson
Honorable Mention
Write a DearReader Contest 2018
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]
* This month's Penguin Classics book is THE BOOK OF EMMA REYES: A MEMOIR, by Emma Reyes. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.
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