More people are going to leave than will stay. But it’s not about those that leave. It’s about the faithful you allow to remain.

 

For so long, my focus has been on the absent, those that hurt me then fled from the scene of the accident. I’ve overlooked or so adamantly pushed away all those that have tried to remain, tried to bandage me, or even more absurd, love me. In my broken state, I’ve denied all metaphorical, medical help out of the deep-seated fear of impending malpractice. 

And then sat dying, wondering where the doctors and nurses are.

 

Many have barged into my allegorical home, taking prized possessions that are, largely, irreplaceable.

After so many have stolen what I would have freely given, my door has been sealed. A window open here, a door cracked there, but largely a fortress of impenetrable distrust and skepticism, with a lock crafted of anger and bitterness.

 

I’ve been ding-dong-ditched so many times, I no longer respond to the ringing of my doorbell. I’ve had packages left on my doorstep, only to have the items arrive damaged. So I stopped ordering things. 
I’d become the house on the hill that people have learned not to approach.

I’ve lived as a recluse so long, the hospitality of the new neighbors is foreign to me, inviting me over for dinner, blessing me with things I had so long ago stopped requesting.

 

Life isn’t about the muggers and thieves, the sly cat-burglar and the unwitting RN. It’s not about the irreplaceable being gone or the requested arriving tattered or not at all.

 

It’s about what remains.
It’s about the heirlooms the looters left behind. 
It’s about the surprise gifts and the friendly neighbor who offers to help me with my yard-work, with no unspoken agenda. 

It’s about what remains.
It’s about the un-singed items amongst the ashes of the treasured. 
It’s about who chooses to continue knocking despite the “keep out” signs. 
It’s about those who help tend to the few remaining flowers in my field of weeds.

It’s about what’s been given, not what’s been taken.

 

 

Fair Farren, Dear Ones