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Am I Doing the Right Thing? It’s a beautiful day today. The sky is a lovely shade of blue and the clouds are fluffy and scattered. The sun shines through the clouds to warm the Earth and a light breeze ruffles the leaves on the surrounding trees. I can hear my sons in the back, splashing about in the creek, both enjoying the day together. Even though the day is so nice, I couldn’t possibly, truly enjoy it… “Mark, could you please come here for a moment?” my wife calls from the doorway. I look back at the house, the house that I built with my own hands, with a sigh. It really is a very sad sight to behold, this home that I’ve created with my wife and children. I am doing the right thing, aren’t I? That very question haunts me terribly, every moment of every day. I am doing the right thing, aren’t I?” Inside the house I find my wife standing on her tippy-toes, frowning with all her might up toward a bag of flower placed on a shelf high above her. Once she notes my presence, she turns to reveal her large swell of a stomach, holding our next child. Another reason to ask the question; I am doing the right thing, aren’t I? The sinking feeling hits me hard and I hold my breath to try and block it from my mind. I must be doing the right thing… I must be… “Would you please?” she motions above her head with irritation. “Why would it even be up there?” she grumbles and moves to let me by. I retrieve her desired item and back out of the kitchen, holding my head which is now aching with so much guilt. Being inside my own house is so insufferable that I quickly exit and go around back. “Hey daddy!” Nick greets from across the river. “Watch this!” he yells with excitement before climbing the hill and taking a big leap into the water, creating a large splash big enough to reach their older sister a little ways to the left, washing cloths. Again my stomach sinks. “Do you MIND?!” she squeals, shaking off the water like a dog, her face bright red with frustration as she tries to wash the extra load of clothing added on from our burden. Again the guilt buries further. I begin to hear the question ring in my mind, even out here. There seems to be no escape from my decision. None what so ever… And it will be my fault if those that I love are hurt. The panic rises and grips my chest and in reaction, I grip it too. I am doing the right thing though, aren’t I? Not too long later does my wife come to the door and chime the bell to announce our dinner. This doesn’t make me as happy as it does most men, because I have the burden to think about; the question to think about. Everyone makes their way to the table for our family dinner. My daughter and my sons settle around the table with me to enjoy a dinner together made with love by their mother. As they dig in, all I can think about is that not all families get to do this… and my decision might danger my own family’s ability to enjoy it as well… “Excuse me…” my wife says during dinner, and gets up to gather the left-over’s and the extras. We all know what she’s doing, and no one says anything about it. We ignore it, as I’ve ordered them all to. As she returns, I stand up to leave. It’s eating at me again… the question. I go to the living room and set in my chair. The dog saunters over and lays his head on my knee, wanting petted. I oblige him without much thought. My mind is elsewhere… I could end this mind torture and stop putting my family in such danger easily. With one trip or one letter, I could be done with it all and all of the worrying I’ve been doing would end in and instant. But would that be the right thing to do? This awful question is my demon, the reason that I can’t rest; the reason that I can’t eat; the reason that I’m constantly tortured. Perhaps it was the food in my belly or the warmth of the day, or even my exhaustion from lack of sleep and fretting over the burden. Maybe all three, but I was allowed a small relief from my thoughts as sleep settled over me in the chair. “George, it’s time for bed dear.” My wife says as she wakes me. Outside the window I see stars and I’m surprised that I’ve slept for so long. Perhaps God’s feeling pity for me and allowed me some time away from reality. Even if that’s so, I’m awake now, and it’s ever more real. The hours that my mind was at rest seemed to have helped though I’m just as exhausted as I ever have been. I follow my wife to our bedroom and look into the rooms of my children along the way. Asleep comfortably in their beds without a care. Good. That’s what I want for them, because not everyone these days were able to have that feeling. Once inside my bedroom, I undress and crawl underneath the blankets and as soon as my head hits the pillow, the weights that drag my body down throughout the day seem to lesson considerably and I sigh almost, but not quite, happily. But before sleep comes to me, I hear a tiny, childlike cough from beneath my floors and I’m hit in the stomach with the questions once again.
Bunneh x33 · Wed Dec 16, 2009 @ 06:27pm · 0 Comments |
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