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Story Touched


Between Earth   and   Heaven






         I am in a cloud. Others don’t notice, not really.

         I guess that it’s more noticeable when someone is on a cloud. Now that you can’t miss! But me, I’m easily passed by, for I live in a cloud ¾ keeping me covered. I cannot see out very well, and those on the outside have trouble seeing in. It’s not like I want someone to break through to me. I prefer to be left alone.

         I function. Sometimes I don’t know how. Or why.

         Each shallow breath only seems to accentuate the heaviness in my chest. For my cloud is inside as well as out.

         I know that nothing can dispel my cloud, I shall take it to the grave. I often visualize my grave. Waiting up on a hill. Silent. Peaceful.

         I have dreams where I am laying on the grass, tombstone at my head. I can’t figure out if I’m already dead in the dream, or if I’m just relaxing there… waiting.

         It is probably the most peaceful dream I have had in the last two years. No squealing brakes. No crunching metal. No screams. Only silence. Peaceful, calm, silence.

         I always focus on my smile in the dream. A feeling of belonging washes over me as I am lying there between my two sweethearts.


*       *       *


My cloud does move once in a while. It will blow, unceremoniously away, but never too far. I am always aware of its presence, somewhere near by, although it may temporarily be hiding. For it always returns.

         “Things will get better.” I have heard sentiments like that often enough to make me want to scream.

         “You are a survivor.” I am weak.

         It is the weakness in me that makes me a survivor.

         I am afraid.

         Almost always.

         The thing that is silly is that I have nothing to fear, not anymore.

         Still, terror grips me. It is the one thing that isn’t modified by my cloud. It rips the haze away and allows me to see, and worse yet, others to see me.

         Others tell me there will again come a day when I care about life, but they are stupid. I care too much! I am the only one who realizes that, and I will take that shameful knowledge to the grave.

         My selfishness is what keeps me from that peaceful grave, where I belong. I belong next to my husband and son, in life – and in death. But it is not a perfect world. Far from it.

         I am left alone.



Sometimes the wind blows my cloud a bit to the side, but once the wind actually blew somebody through.

He saw me, and I saw him. The cloud had no effect. I didn’t freak out, and more surprisingly, neither did he.

It was simple. I don’t even remember what he or I said. With his eyes, and not through his mouth, came expressions from his soul.

I understood, and I knew that he did too. As impossible as it is to explain my feelings of the crash, it was equally impossible to explain what happened between me and this stranger.

Maybe it’s as simple as he didn’t need or expect and explanation. He didn’t say anything, not really … and neither did I. But somehow that was

enough. Somehow that was everything.

He didn’t know anything about me. Nothing. And he looked at me without caring to see all my baggage. He only saw me, and for the first time, in a very long time, I wasn’t scared.

 In his accepting eyes I saw God.

As my cloud clings to me, or perhaps it is the other way around, I am finally able to realize that when I do go to take my place on the hill, amongst the only two people I will ever love, I will leave this cloud back on earth, where it belongs.


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