Monday, September 10, 2012
I sat on the ferry that day on a bench seat that intentionally looked forward, thinking my choice had something to say about my attitude. Look ahead. Hold your head high. Go into the future facing forward. Take it head on.
But my head betrayed me. My eyes kept looking back. And Shaw Island kept getting smaller and smaller. And Mary Ann and Martha were no longer at the ferry landing, waving goodbye. Sunday mass would start in an hour. My sheets would still be in the dryer. Mother Dilecta would be milking the cow. Guests would arrive. But I was leaving, to go home, to start work, facing forward, on a bench looking ahead, glancing back.