Your Turn

All of the conversations were melding together into a dull roar. The three bedroom townhouse was never designed for this many people and, the noise was only magnified as the sounds bounced off the hardwood floors. As she walked through the crowded rooms accepting condolences from family, friends, acquaintances, and people she didn't remember, she passed through the kitchen.

This room filled with thousands of memories of pancake breakfasts, baking cookies for bake sales, and cooking holiday dinners. The memories came like a flash flood, hitting her wave after wave. She could even smell the aroma of each of the meals that were crafted so lovingly in this room. She had to get out of the before she broke down so she snuck out of the kitchen through the back door. Another memory came to mind of her father telling her time and time again not to kick the door open.

Mercifully, the back yard was empty so she decided to walk around while she tried to reel in her emotions. It had been two days since she sat in that chair next to her father's and held her his hand as his soul, finally left him his body. He had had a long fight, at least now, she thought, he is at rest. She had been strong for her mother, helping her deal with the loss, trying to put her emotion behind brick walls so she could deal with them later. She was so lost in her thoughts she didn't realize that she had walked right up to the old oak tree, and there hanging from a well weathered rope was an old tire.

When she was about five years old her father hung the swing as a birthday gift. She still remembered how her dad had blindfolded her and led her by the hand to the back yard, and then took off the blindfold right in front of the swing. She had been so excited that she jumped into her daddy's arms hugging him and thanking him over and over. To this day it remained her favorite birthday present. How many hours had she sat out her just sitting there slowly swinging back and forth?

This swing was the scene of so many events in her life. Bobby Smith gave her her first kiss as she sat in that swing, and she was sitting in this same swing when her Dad told her the Bobby had been hit by that drunk driver. The one memory that hit her the hardest was that of a day in early spring. She was seven years old, the sun was bright that afternoon, and she could smell the honeysuckle blooming near the creek. Her Daddy was pushing her in the swing; the light spring breeze blew through her hair. She didn't remember the joke that Daddy had told her but she was giggling as she turned to look at him and asked, "Daddy, will you always be there to push me?" Her daddy laughed and told her, "No honey, I won't always be here, but don't worry when that day comes there will be somebody that you will love almost as much as me, and then he can do it." She asked him, "You would let him have a turn"? Daddy chuckled, "Well I may not like it, but yeah, I will".

She couldn't help it anymore, sitting in this swing, reliving all those memories she finally let it go. Wave after wave she cried, the pain blossomed in her heart as all the walls she had set up finally crumbled. It felt like hours before her sobs started to slow.

She heard footsteps behind her and the familiar hand of her husband touched her shoulder. "You doing ok sweetheart?" he asked, she sniffed as she replied, "Yeah honey, I just needed some air". "Well your mom has been asking for you, do you want to go in"? She wiped her eyes and lifted her feet so she could swing freely, "I will in just a minute, but could you push me a little bit? It's your turn." As her husband gently pushed her she began to swing back and forth, the pain began to ease and, for the first time in a long time she at peace.