I am reminded of so many people today, none of them is me. I have seen all their faces, though not in the mirror as I do today.
One of them is my father, his face not here to visit but to haunt.
A reminder that we cannot escape where we come from.
I take a quick look at the face staring back at me and I see the last few drops of my spirit draining from my eyes as the wrinkles and scared tears they have become. Finally too worn out to hold my eyes up or smile the corners of my mouth for anyone to see.
The body no longer in tune, the mind never quite turned on & long since put to rest.
The spirit, my spirit, lost to the storming clouds of my childhood like a forgotten toy I never knew I had until...
No other life would be quite my own and I gladly take credit for the one I have. It is the one thing truly mine.
But even taking credit helps me to see I do not want it. My stamp firmly on so many pieces. The latest series of falls tearing at the few steps I take the most pride in.
I look at my father through his eyes today and I see a man beaten; perhaps once a strong dreamer. Filled maybe with promise of possible fun and spirit; now only the husk remains.
Never did he share his passion, any pure joy of his life even in memory. To tired perhaps to recount the glory of his dreams, to share the bitter struggle of his life that could have been a source of strength in mine.
I look at the face in the mirror and wonder if the day comes when there might be a little face staring back longingly at me, will I have the energy to look at the things that could have been.
Giving them back so at least in that moment they might serve some purpose other than to torment even the tinniest smile I might have for the day.
There is hope, but there might not ever be a day to share with flesh of mine, so I should take this moment to share them with you. My life is your life as my father’s was mine.
I am reminded of so many people today one of them might be you.