Foreign Object

I stepped in a piece of
glass today. I had left a Corning ware bowl on
Madelynn’s highchair and when I turned around to grab a spoon the bowl smashed
to the floor. She used the second word
that she has learned in her English vocabulary, “Uh-oh”. I cleaned up the spray of chipped
pieces. Yet, later in the day I stepped
into a tiny piece that I had missed.

This foreign object did not
belong in my body. My body did not know
what to do with it. My body did not want
it to be there. It hurt. It was a stranger to me.

Death feels like a foreign
object in my body. I don’t know what to
do with it. My body does not want it to
be there. It hurts. It is strange to me.

Last week I went to the musical "West Side Story" at
the Chanhassen Dinner Theater. My very
close friend was performing and it was a treat for me to see her in the
show. I was mesmerized by the actress
who played the character “Maria”. Her performance was phenomenal. Maybe
my own spirit could relate closely to her role, as both stories relate to loss.
When Maria finds out Tony has been killed
she sings with great conviction, "Make
it not be true. Oh please, God, make it
not be true. I will do anything. Make me die, only please, no, make it not be
We plead for this
foreign object to not be there.

I searched the dinner theater
for Shawn in the sea of people. I dreamt
that maybe by some crazy chance he could be there. I looked
into the dark audience for him. After
six months, I was still trying to find him; daydreaming about how nice it would
be if he could take the empty seat next to me and say, “Sorry I’m late. I got here as soon as I could. I hope you weren’t waiting long. I missed you.” I glanced across the crowd with wishful
thinking trying to make him come true again. Please God, make it not be true. Take this foreign object out of my
heart. It doesn’t belong. I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t want it to be there. It hurts.
 This is all so strange to me.  

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