Heavy
like a box that has weights in it,
or bags of chicken scratch and feed,
I carry this feeling with me.
It's been here all week.
I will call it grief.
Grief for a new friend,
I feel guilty that it hurts,
because I didn't know her well.
Grief,
and relief,
for a family that I only know
in a small town way.
Guilt that I'm grateful
that it's not me
facing their walk,
their pain
their shame.
Stigma...
I wish it weren't a word.
But especially in small town,
rural Kansas,
it's definitely a word.
There is no shame,
but I feel it just the same,
when I face the crisis
of supporting a child
that society doesn't understand.
or embrace.
Heavy.
My heart is heavy
like a cold steel beam
facing the loss.
As if it weren't enough...
I remember
a man on a cross
dying slowly,
painfully,
because I am a selfish sinner.
Heavy.
The weight of the gift
is heavy.
My heart,
dragging these feelings
is heavy.
I will lay it down today
so tomorrow I can remember
the joy
of my salvation.
Knowing that
these things, feelings, baggage,
are still
heavy.
-Carrie Horn
