My Bench

There is a bench in the city where I live. It's structure is simple: three slabs of smooth gray granite. I can tell you that this bench has been carefully placed so that it sits right underneath the shade of a nearby tree, whose branches desperately need a trim. This sturdy seat has been placed with purpose, a memorial for a man I never knew. His name is inscribed on the bench, along with a short epitaph.

24 hours ago, I had no idea this bench even existed. I probably didn't need it. Because then, I still had hope. I had faith. I believed.

Now, reality has won. I am defeated.

It was a bad morning. I was just so sad. I didn't understand. And I couldn't get out of it. There was no one to talk to, so I just started driving. After nearly breaking down in tears at Target, I knew the baby car would be my only solace, as she often is. So we went exploring. I didn't care about getting lost. That's nearly impossible around here. We just took new roads, listening to Coldplay, as I sniffled behind my sunglasses.

And then, I saw it. The bench. Nestled in an old cemetery off a nondescript road. I pulled up to where it sat next to the gravel path. It was so inviting, regardless of the morbid setting.

I sat down, a person overcome by the inevitable, broken, empty of hope, full of despair. And I just sobbed.

I stayed there for about an hour, spitting my prayers and complaints and confusion and anger out to God. People change. Relationships change. I knew this would happen. I anticipated it. Why did you give me hope that it wouldn't? Didn't you promise hope that does not disappoint? ...and so on.

I prayed someone would come and comfort me, but I remained alone. I prayed for peace, for joy, for the ability to accept reality, but I was without it all. I drove away released but oddly enough, still burdened. And very exhausted.

Nobody said it was easy.
Oh, it's such a shame for us to part.
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be so hard.

Oh, take me back to the start.