Climbed a few mountains...
A man walks down the street. Out of the rubble of war, disaster, disease. It's the story told in the book "The Road". An apocalyptic tale of one man's struggle to survive and watch after the son who travels along side.
But this is real life.
I see Another Man and know his life. I know the struggles he's personally faced and I have seen the hopelessness that envelopes all that is around him. No matter what anyone may think, I may be the closest to him. His eyes are my eyes. His voice, my own.
And now I find myself wondering how I'll pass along his memory. What do I say? share? As I prepare for the son who is fast approaching, how do I remedy my own past mistakes and time missed?
It's almost as if I'm being given the chance to raise the son He never had. Maybe this is another of those moments where instead of analyzing, I should just do what I do pretty well - find the way to move on and embrace the path that I've been placed on.
Realize the blessings that I've been given.
The boy who is coming is my blood - my flesh - my seed.
But he's also the image of someone who won't be forgotten. Through my eyes I hope to share a little about Another Man...
...to my son.
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