And If She Goes First . . .

I’ll scatter the ashes of my beloved on San Diego Bay where once we honeymooned in the beauty of our youth.

Then I’ll walk east across America to New England where I first surrendered my heart and life to Jesus Christ.

Then I’ll stowaway on a ship crossing the Atlantic like my mother’s father once did as a teenager and walk across Europe like he did in the opposite direction learning seven new languages in the reverse order that he did.

I will grieve in Salzburg, Austria, that we never did visit there to hear the sound of music like we did the night I first held her hand and gave my already surrendered heart to hers.

Then I’ll make my way into the belly of the evil empire like my Germanic forefathers and spit on the steps of the Kremlin in Moscow when I get there . . . and finally then turn to make my way to my ancient Ruthenian homeland . . .

and I’ll rejoin my beloved there in an obscure village in modern Ukraine whence came my mother’s family.

2 responses to “And If She Goes First . . .”

  1. Hell of a plan

    Sent from my iPad


    1. Thank you, Bro. And I hope never to have to use it, but it’s good to know what I plan to do next should I ever have to enter that fog of grief.

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