Be Gentle

I stop short in the driveway and stand staring. It all looks so normal, so everyday, I think to myself, observing the potted impatiens she planted in front of the garage, the Windexed windows, the kitchen light glowing inside.

Who would know what goes on behind that front door, between those brick walls? Who would guess there is grieving and sickness, tears and joy mingled bittersweet?

I watch the grandkids play tag, climb the river birch tree. They yell and laugh, scream and fall in piles on the grass.

A neighbor drives by, slows, points to my husband’s uncle’s car – a 50s Chevrolet convertible parked in the driveway – gives me a thumb’s up. He approves of the car.

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that I don’t care a bit about that car, about its funky tail fins and genuine red leather interior. He doesn’t know that I don’t even see it.

...I am guest posting over at Make A Difference to One today – will you meet me over there for the rest of this story?