The same bench, the same feeling.
I have sat here as a little boy watching the elders sing with devotion, while watching the clock:
And wondering when it would be over and I could run to play with my friends.
I have sat there, praying to score just enough to get into medicine school.
I cried when I didn’t.
Raved, ranted and lamented on the injustice of life – unconsciously choosing the same bench.
Reconciled to my fate as a medical druggist, running a store and reading the Rx written by other doctors.
I fell in love and first confessed my feelings to you, on that bench.
I prayed and leapt with joy when you said yes.
Our wedding was in the same place,
I remember stealing a glance at my favorite spot and giving thanks.
My first born’ baptism.
Soon followed by the second.
Now they came with me – while I prayed fervently, their feet would long to run outside.
They grew up, so did I.
School, college – I seemed to have lived my life again through theirs.
Time came and they flew the nest.
Proud was I but also broken.
My sweetheart’s hand had grown weaker by the years. No longer would she grip mine tightly – stolen moments amidst the mundane routine.
The years have flown and here I am.
The first to arrive at her funeral.
Our children will soon arrive and so will others.
Yet I needed to catch this moment,
Just you, me and the worn bench that has watched my entire life roll by.