My mother used to tell me a story about a girl who was given a choice. The choice wasn’t anything life altering, and there is no way my mind would be able to reach back and remember how the story went. But I do remember the moral. Life has choices; choices have consequences, make the right choices. Of course, I never listened to my mother. I always blew her off. I never thought I would be given a choice, but I was. My mother died three days ago, stroke. It came so quickly and unexpectedly. She was there one day and gone the next. A thief came and took her soul overnight. At first I didn’t want to believe she was really gone. I would sit, staring at the back door waiting for her to return from gardening; jumping at every sound coming from outside, running to see if that small thief came back and returned my mother to me. But, it was for nothing. My mother was really dead. She was gone, and as soon as that realization hit me, I was too. I packed my things in my small Volkswagen bug, and left. Yeah, you might say it was cowardice to leave, you might say I was dishonoring my mother by not even giving her a proper burial. But, all I could think was I had to get away. I had to leave and get away from all that sorrow and sadness. Everywhere I looked I saw my mother. I couldn’t stand it. So, I left.
So here I am now, driving down this abandoned dirt road, thinking; thinking about a world without loss. What would it be like? What if there was no pain or hurt my life would be so different. The world wouldn’t be the same. Children would not be starving, millions would still have their stolen lives, and crime would be non-existent. My mother would still be alive. Tears start flowing down my cheeks. I can’t see the road and I feel the tires slip on the wet pavement. I lose control and my body goes weightless. Weightless, weightless and then very still. My ears picked up the sound of my car crashing into a ditch that ran parallel to the road. For a second, I thought I had died. I panic, but then realize I would not be panicking if I was actually dead. I try opening the driver side door, but something is blocking it from the other side. I try the passenger side door, but it too is blocked. The sun roof to my car had shattered during the crash, so I carefully crawl up and out. I stood on top of my mangled bug, and am totally shocked by what I see. My car had crashed right in between two boulders. If my car had veered an inch to either the right or left, I would have been crushed. Instead, my car had crashed right in between, right into a giant rose bush that was growing inside the ditch. I stagger onto the road and stare at the sight before me. The weirdness of the situation stands out like black dot on white paper. Not only is it strange that my car crashed into a rose bush growing between two boulders, but I realize I am living my mother’s story.
A young girl was walking home and crying; crying so hard that she could barely see two steps in front of her. She was so overcome with grief that she collapsed to the ground. She cried into the ground and sorrow filled her heart. But, something made her look up and before her was a strange sight. Her cries became softer as she stared at the rose bush growing between two boulders. She marveled at the beauty of the rose’s that grew on the bush. Such beauty that grew between two boulders! The girl picked some flowers to put on the grave of her beloved. She was stunned by the red color that seemed to drip off the roses. When she collected the roses, she turned to continue walking, but found herself at a crossroads. One road was a huge, paved path, full of footprints and horse’s hooves. The girl noticed how beautiful the path looked. Luscious trees line either side of the road, everything seemed happy and bright. But, the girl noted how the path never seemed to end. She couldn’t see the end or any sign of it ever ending. She turned to walk down the other path, but hesitated. This path was small. It seemed nobody walked this way. She noticed how it looked frightening and she knew scary, unpredictable things could be waiting for her on this path.
“Which path does she take?” My mother would ask after completing her story.
“The big, happy path!” My seven year old self would answer.
“Why?” My mother, always making me think of my own answer and explaining it.
“Well, the dark path seems scary. She could die on that path! The safest path would be the big one!” I would offer her a large smile showing off how proud I was of my answer. I was only seven, and it seemed like I had answered correctly to a difficult question.
“Hmmm…well, if that’s what you think.” Then she would tuck me into bed, kiss my forehead, and leave me to ponder. Why? Why should the girl take the small path?
I now understand. I sit staring at the rose bush and complete the story. I pick myself up off the ground and slowly make my way to the bush. I pick a few roses, and then turn to make my decision. Just like the story, I see two paths. My mother did not give the large path justice. It was absolutely beautiful. I never thought a path could look so welcoming. Flowers lined the sides of the path and trees swayed to songs I wanted to hear. But, as I looked farther down, I saw people. I saw people crying, and wailing. Some were lying down on the side of the road to take a nap, or at least that’s what it seemed. Some were trying to back towards the entrance, but were walking slow, and it was so crowded. There was not one spot of open dirt. They all seemed to be stuck. I looked farther down the path and at the end there was darkness. The darkness was so dark that it sent chills down my spine. In my gut, I felt a pull, a desire; a strong desire to go down that path. I wanted to go down that path so badly; yet, I feared if I did, my life would be ruined. I now know why the girl did not choose this path. It was beautifully tarrying. I turn to walk down the second path; and, just like the girl, I hesitated. It was small, narrow. The trees were overgrown and gnarled roots reached out to grab at the ankles of the travelers. But, there was one thing I noticed. A small light was waiting at the end. A bright, peaceful light that filled me with a warmth I have never experienced. I also saw people, but only a few. They seemed happy to be on this path. They walked together, laughed, and sang songs with beautiful melodies. Their happiness seemed to repel the darkness away. I then realized this is why the girl chose this path. She wanted their happiness. She wanted to laugh and sing and to forget, but to not forget. Just like the girl, I chose my path. I blossomed on that path and I grew. My mother’s story is now my story. I took my leap of faith and I made my choice. Now, it’s time to make yours.