Diary Entry 10.3.94

October 10, 1994

I embraced my sorrow; I held it tightly with all my strength and it engulfed me. We cradled each other until morning and I awoke more aware of life.

I am haunted by ghosts that tip toe through the attic of my memory. The three of us are in the back seat. silent. Dressed in Sunday best. My father drives as if called onward by the chiming bells. Even the sweetness of amazing grace chimes cannot compete with even the echo of their hollering. My mother's head is bowed and she sniffles quietly. Playing once again the Sunday song of getting to the church for what...

Driven far - some 15 years far - from that white Plymouth car, I'm in the front seat of a white truck, and I drive alongside with him to church - no chiming bells play onward - yet the music from my childhood Sunday song comes to life - yelling and tears - but this time no back seat little ears. Getting to the church for what? - And I feel the strength of the arm...the arm that I watched come around my mother's neck to pull her toward him in apology - and I realize - she was exhausted of trying - and yet so hopeful. So I slide over and succumb to the same reason why she never left.