Remembering Sunday

Remembering Sunday

It used to be my favorite day of the week, you took that away too.

Christian Colson

It used to be my favorite day of the week.

You would wake me as I put on my church dress. You didn't go with me, but you dropped me off in that old beat up red Ford. After church was over, you would pick me up and we would go home and make sandwiches for everyone. Those old paper plates were so easy to clean up, but this mess you made isn't. I am stained.

And I can't stop remembering Sunday.

I used to love sitting out on a porch right before a storm begins and just feeling the pressure of the rain in the air before it even falls, and feeling the cold breeze get caught in my throat. But now all I think about is you and me sitting outside that one afternoon before that storm. I remember what we were wearing and the colors of grey in the sky. That storm never really ended did it?

I used to adore the vast depths of the ocean, you took me there for the first time. I remember throwing that frisbee in the air and watching the wind guide it into his little hands. Now his hands aren't so little and you only taught him how to drop things.

I remember the freedom I felt riding on your small bass fishing boat on Brookville Lake. You would open it all the way up and the front end of the boat wasn't even touching the water. I would close my eyes and I swear it felt like I was flying. Now my feet can't find the ground.

I used to beg you to let me ride with you every time you drove. You would put the windows were down as we blared country music and shouted the lyrics with all of our might. Now I can't go on drives alone without feeling you in the seat next to me. Those songs never end.

I actually used to enjoy the smell gas at a gas station when you pulled over and let me pump. Now I push my car as far as it can go on empty because the smell makes me sick to my stomach.

I used to walk with you as push mowed all the land we had behind our little green house on East Street. It took hours but I loved every minute of it. Ironically now, I am so allergic to grass I have to hide from it.

You used to let me light the match and bring the flame to your cigerette as you let the smoke fill your lungs. Now mine are full of the same smoke and I've been gasping for fresh air since you left.

You used to lend my your log johns and camo overalls before we left int he early hours of the morning to hunt for deer. You kept me warm in the thick inches of snow. Now I feel naked and I can't seem to find warmth.

I used to love the autumn season, when the leaves would fall in the most beautiful colors. Now I can't help but feel like they have been thrown from their branches and left alone to fall hard to the lonely ground on earth to never return to comfort.

A town that I used to call home, is now a burial ground of a woman you were supposed to save. Now I cannot return without the fear of running into my demons and ghosts of my past.

The word family used to mean the world to me and now it has become a one word joke. One that was never actually funny.

The saddest word in the world is "almost."

She almost held on.

He almost tried again.

She almost asked for help.

He almost found love.

She almost had a family.

He almost stopped her.

She almost waited.

He almost lived.

They almost made it.

We almost fixed it.

I almost forgot about Sunday.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.

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