The Visitor
I have walked hand in hand with sorrow many times. It's always the same; sorrow knocks on my door, but lets iteslf in before I can tell it to go away. It sits with me and stays with me for what seems to be an eternity, finally slinking away, leaving me spent and exhausted.
Sorrow hasn't visited me for quite some time now. Sorrow stayed with me for a long time after David died. It seemed as though it would never leave me, and I was going to have sorrow in my life forever. I had never lost someone so dear to me, so close to my heart.
Sorrow came to me that day, dressed all in black--the usual garb. Its face pallid and eyes cloudy with tears. It touched my shoulder with its cold, clammy hand, bowed its head, and I felt streams of tears rush down my face, and I felt sorrow steal a pieces of both my heart and my soul. It whispered to me in a quiet voice choked with sobs, "I have come to stay with you." I had no choice but to nod my head in agreement and let sorrow in my life. You can never say no. Even if you resist sorrow, it will come. Maybe for briefly, maybe for much longer
After David, sorrow stayed for awhile. I bever thought that the sorrow was going to leave. Sorrow hasn't fully left me. Memories of past visits still haunt me--ghost of the past that I wish to forget, but are burned into my brain forever.
I look inside myself once in awhile to see the scars that sorrow has left on my heart. Those cold, thin fingers have traced lines on my heart that are now deadened to the world. Someday I will no longer feel sorrow. Someday I will be able to look at sorrow and turn away, untouched, unharmed by its tear-filled eyes and cold hands. I look forward to the day when I can feel sorrow no more.