Playing Another Song
It was late afternoon. The sunlight still shines into the room through the small window. Giving more glow to the beautiful little red flower on the side of the window. She just finished the dishes. It is now her quiet time. The time where she just relax. She grabbed the nail and continued sewing the dress that she was working on since yesterday. Then they came again. It's the kids! All four of them came and with their musical instruments this time. One is hitting on drums and the other is blowing in that saxophone. It felt like they were just playing in different rooms. Nothing of that music rhymed. The other two were singing. But, it was not the same song. She covered her ears. But, it was not because, she needed to relax or had enough that day. She was not even disturbed by all the noise they were making. She could not bare the fact that, it is one of those times, where they came again from her memory and as she listens, she will remember the day of the big house fire. The day that she survived and it felt like she was given another life. But, it was a new life without her little ones.
Para una persona que ha sufrido una perdida tan grande y traumática como esa, es muy difícil evitar que cualquier incidente le haga recordar... Para cualquier Padre o Madre perder a un hijo deja un hueco en el alma que nunca podrá ser llenado por nada ni nadie.
Indeed! They say it is something that can only be understood by those who have experienced it.
Thanks for passing by,
@ronnie10, en tu texto se evidencia cómo un ruido, una imagen, un texto... pueden ser vehículos hacia el pasado, que no siempre es grato, como en este caso. Me encantó leerte.