Flash Fiction Friday: Don't sit with your sorrow

My mother said something prophetic the other day. I didn't know it at the time, but as the words sank into my soul and warmed my cold heart, I began to live again. My wife wouldn't have wanted me to give up. She had such courage. Obviously more than me.

"Don't sit with your sorrow, but next to it."

I hadn't the foggiest idea what mom meant.  With or next, what difference did it make?  Did she mean it literally or figuratively?  Did she mean don't sit too long on your ass, moping and dwelling, crying in your beer?  Or did she mean I should remove myself from the equation?   And just why the hell do I feel the need to analyze it.  Because it bothers me.

"Don't sit with your sorrow, but next to it."

Are we acquaintances, sitting together in a room, keeping each other at arms length. Or have we become friends sitting together, bonding over who knows what. Holding hands, gathering strength, being a part of each other's lives rather than viewing each other across the coffee table.  

"Don't sit with your sorrow, but next to it." 

Sorrow.  Can you personalize it, him, her?  Does it become a person, a physical entity.  You can either be that person or next to that person.  Sit with me, Sorrow says, and I'll tell you a tale of woe.  Sit next to me, Sorrow says, I'll give you a rake to hoe.  I'll give you a shoulder to lean on, since you still have far to go.  Sit next to me, but don't lean on me. I have things to do, said Sorrow. Don't count on me, said Sorrow, I won't always be around. I won't be there tomorrow.  

Damn. Sorrow isn't a very trust worthy person is she?  I think she just gave me my walking papers.

Greg - Eyes in the Ashes

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