When I was a little girl my Dad would read me a great deal of poetry. He helped me understand it and cultivate my own sense for how to string together words and thoughts. He often read me this poem that later appeared and reappeared in my life, be it through schooling, in film or in a flash of my mind as life diverged in its many directions. Its about choice, coping, moving forward. It’s by Robert Frost:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I read it this morning, as my heart sunk with doubt, fear, distrust, dismay and love. Love. Who to love and how to love and love lost and love found. To forgive and stay or forgive and run. And who should run alongside me?

And all along there is a shadow over me. What will the MRI show? Will any of these worldly worries matter? I spend each day wondering what they’ll find next and if I even care.

Frost’s poem is nice but what happens when all the roads diverge and you can’t even find yourself well enough to figure out which is the one less travelled by.

Peace and love-


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