Saturday, March 10, 2012

Recognizing My Own Voice

Dear Mary,

On October 1, 2002, my husband and I left for work.  I prayed a gratitude prayer, and a half mile from my house, returned home to execute a plan that had been in the making for a year.  It was a true Mission Impossible escape from two decades of verbal and emotional abuse.  Friends and the movers arrived, and within two hours, we packed my things and took off for the apartment I had secretly rented.  He was incensed, of course, and I was little more than a shell that had once sheltered a soul.  I unpacked and tried to see past "tomorrow."  My husband called my family to ask them to pray for me, for surely I had lost my mind.

I read and printed "The Journey" and found a photograph showing the sun shining in the distance, the photographer in the darkness of the trees.  Thank you for letting me know that "they" would have terrible melancholy, that the night would be wild, and that the sun would shine in a future in which I would recognize my own voice.  Your poem helped me save my life.  And it was and is a life worth saving.

Sharon Reinbott

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