A NEW BEGINNING I COULD NOT SEE

I Love You

     “You can see to drive if you wear sunglasses.” Walking out of the hospital without sunglasses, the concrete was glowing! I didn't need to look at the brightly shining sun to see spots—rather, to see holes in my surroundings. The car was ten parking spaces from me which I couldn’t see. I pressed the alarm on the car key.

     In a world with so many people, why couldn’t I find one to drive for me? Yes. I could “see” when I sat in the driver's seat and put sunglasses over my eyeglasses. Hours before my appointment I considered canceling. Logic prevailed because 6 months ago the cataract had suddenly begun to grow and required monitoring. After all the bright lights used to look in, through and behind my eyes, I might have become accustomed to the shining bouncing off everything outside.

     I could “see” the drop off on the edge of the mountain roads where there were no lines or guardrails. I could “see” the tractor trailer behind me. I put on my turn signal early to make sure the driver saw it. My left turn was around the curve at the bottom of a hill.

     I could “see” the orange “roadwork ahead” signs at least a mile before coming upon yellow trucks and red flags. I could “see” arms stuck out of windows motioning me forward.

     The Mercy Me CD, “I Can Only Imagine” played to keep me from thinking about cars coming towards me and how close I already was to the edge.

     I remembered closing my eyes all the way to our new home after the ophthalmologist dilated my eyes. A dumpster had been placed next to the farmhouse so we could throw years of debris from second floor windows. I could not get near an open window for fear of falling much less pick up or toss anything out. I reclined the seat, napped in the Jeep. A new beginning that I could not see.

ART: LJ Austin “Home” 2024