The Most Beautiful Story – IV


Up until this moment, Harrison had only managed to go to one funeral. That was for his father nearly twenty years ago and it was awkward. He didn’t mourn his father’s death. He couldn’t. He mourned the loss of his father when he left his family years before. By the time his funeral came around, he was already grieved out. So, that was a different experience than what he felt today.

Today he was at Mrs Carrington’s funeral. It was much different than his father’s. The anticipated crowd size was so much that the services were being held in a community center. Good call. Harrison looked around and didn’t see an empty chair. He could also see people standing in the hallway. Of course Mrs Carrington would have so many people wanting to come and pay their respects. She taught school for over 30 years. Every year there were probably 20-30 students in her class. She probably made each one feel as special as she made him feel when he was in her class. That was a lot of influence.

Rachel snuggled into his arm and whispered, “You okay?”

He nodded. “She was a great teacher.”

She nodded her head.

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Changing the Narrative

Meeks Cabin, Uinta County, Wyoming

We can’t always control the events in our life. Sometimes we are mere players. What we are told and reminded of is we can control our reaction to events. Easier said than done. It may feel at times that we are swept downstream in a fast moving river and our reactions are little more than instinct. If that is the case and our reaction comes before we have time to think maybe we have to revisit the situation and if possible change the story. It is our story, after all, we are in charge of the narrative. Sometimes we need to do a rewrite, an edit. We revisit the pain in order to find beauty. We change the narrative.

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Plan B

I am by no means an expert in this thing called life. I just thought I should start with that disclaimer and get it out in the open. So take this for what you will but I think I have discovered at least one key to life. I guarantee there is probably more than one but from personal observation I have gleaned at least this one key component. Here it is: life is all about plan B.

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Broken Table and Broken Dreams

I finally conceded I needed to give the table away. It is a big (by today’s standards) kitchen table probably built in the 1940’s. All wood, it is heavy and cumbersome. Not really designed for today’s compact modern world. But for me giving it away was a difficult decision because it represented a dream unfulfilled. Although I have lived long enough to know the importance of plan B’s in my life, giving up on a long held dream is not an easy thing to do. I took comfort in the fact that the table not only represented a plan B in my life, but it must have also been similar for my grandma nearly 55 years earlier. We are connected with this broken table and broken dreams. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Table with the three leaves leaning against the wall
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