Poetry and personal blog – Spilling my guts to strangers

I am still trying to process

the tragic events that befell someone I know. Things never turn out the way you think they will. I suppose we never know how close our lives are to becoming a tragedy and where our lessons will come from.

Like yesterday, I’m driving home from work, in the dark, no radio on, windows up, relative quiet except for the whirring of my wheels–white noise on the newly repaved road.

Courtesy of FreeFoto.com

In my head I’m writing lines of a poem that I’ve been thinking about for a couple of weeks. I’ve written one line of the poem on paper but for now the rest of the words are turning around and around and around in my brain, and after much thought and a dozen tries I think I have the perfect title for it. I say it to myself over and over and over and over

Then I hear screeching slightly ahead of me and to my left. I see a car slowly careening. I sense the driver’s mighty struggle to maintain control. That car is sliding, skidding, and one of the front tires is not inflated but splayed out at the bottom. Hours later, I was able to piece together how these facts were related. At the time, it was what it was, and when that car finally came to a perpendicular halt, it was straddling two lanes, the one it came from and mine.

Within inches of the car, I veered to my right, waiting to feel the thud from either clipping it or maybe oncoming traffic in the right lane; I certainly hadn’t checked to see if the way was clear. The thud never came and when I veered back into my lane again I saw in my rearview mirror that no one else had hit the car, either, as far as I could tell. I started wondering, how did you avoid slamming into that car? How did you do that how did you do that how did you do that … but I wasn’t talking to myself:  I was talking to the Force that determined it wasn’t my time to go.

So within a short period of time, two events showed me that any morning I venture out of bed, get through my day, and get back into my bed at night without a scratch, that’s a good day and a blessing, because as long as I’m alive, there’s hope for more and better, there’s opportunity. Every small encouragement and any big one that occurs between morning and night, every smile, any feeling of accomplishment, those are gifts to be thankful for, always.

I don’t say it enough: Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you … retroactively and in advance.

© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2010

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Comments on: "I am still trying to process" (4)

  1. ❤ THANKFULL! I love ya SWEEPY!! Thank God, you are ok!! ❤ You never know, sweetie, you never know!

  2. Hi Sweepy, Wow! you are so right that everyday you are able to go to bed is a great day. As they say Live every day as if it were your last.

    Cheers

  3. suburbansatsangs said:

    This is a very moving post and something I needed to read before my day blurs into countless others. You always have powerful insights. And I’m glad you are okay, too.

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