April 4, 2003

Touchpoint

I guess everyone has their own personal place, tucked away in such secret that they are not even sure where it’s located. The place where, in spite of all that you do to set guard around it, …when exposed…you lose it.

I don’t cry easily. As example, just recently I returned from Florida (I live in Southern California), where I attended my stepfather’s funeral. I was the sole remaining member of the family to be involved in his last few days, to plan for the memorial service, and to wrap up the estate. I cared deeply. But I didn’t cry.

I didn’t try to control my emotions. The tears just did not come.

The day after we returned from our cross-country journey, “the war” began in Iraq. Being sort of a news junkie, I have watched as much of the graphic depictions of the heartbreak and horror of all that is involved...that my emotions can sustain without sinking into a deep depression. I have been disturbed and weary, …but didn’t cry.

But they sneaked up on me and with only a small effort, located my place of vulnerability.

It was a small American boy, about 8 years old. He sat with a grim, tight-lipped…almost smile…strained across his face. His eyes squinting to hold back the tears.

“When will you come back?” He looked up to his Daddy.

Daddy’s voice broke as he answered, “I’m not sure son, but just as soon as I can. I will be back.”

I thought of my 9 year old grandson and how he adores his father.

And I lost it. They found my touch-point.

Thanks for reading.

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