Battle scarred

It’s unbelievable how much things can change in a year – my friend said.

I sipped my hot coco and smiled “Yea. Your whole world can flip around. The rug can be pulled right under you when you least expect it.”

Imagínate lo imaginable y la vida te sorprenderá. My father told me that once. And its true imagine the unimaginable and life will out do you. One day you wake up and you find yourself missing the good old lunch box days. Standing on your fathers toes dancing and twirling. Sitting on your mothers lap. And that tight grip of your fathers hand of a time where nothing and no one could hurt you or
break you.

Getting older comes with its challenges. When your world turns upside down, in a matter of seconds you can lose your grasp on reality. We end up with more baggage than we can carry. And though we wish otherwise life doesn’t come with directions at every road, stop, or crossing.

Personally, the past years have been a rollercoaster ride for me health wise. And I’ve lost many battles just like I’ve won some. I wish I could describe the emotional toll it takes on you. But unless you are physically going through it – you can’t even dare imagine. But I have to say one of the hardest things to do has been to move forward. For me my life was forever changed since that night that everything fell apart. The exit wounds of the unraveling have left me scarred.

And it happens. One moment can define your life so much it’s as if it forever becomes the climax in our lives. That one epic moment in your life becomes the division, the period between sentences, a moment, a partition that will forever be the first thing you think about when you’re telling a story. You find yourself beginning every anecdote with “before” it happened and “after” it happened. For some it’s a bad breakup, for others the loss of a loved one. Or maybe even a life threatening illness. It’s as if every story we get ready to tell is only justified by mentioning it. And that what may seem obvious to us won’t be to who we are talking to unless we mention it. 

 Every day I wake up and I look into the mirror my reflection troubles me. There is this long an unmistakable scar that runs down my neck. It marks the battle that has been fought. But as palpable as it is, my scar is healed. My wounds aren’t opened though their stain forever blots my skin.

Guys share their stories as candid times and talk about emergency stitching like if they were knitting a sweater. But I suppose most of us hold a scar from our childhood. A scrape knee, a fail at a trick, a trip during a run. Those scars, now healed, are accompanied by laughter and the lightheartedness of times.

For every scar there is a story. But the scars within, the ones no one sees, the ones you hide those are the wounds that leave us black and blue. Battle scars that come with the years like the rain comes with spring. That life causes and at the same time, with time, it heals