We didn't just happen to be standing next to a cornfield. It wasn't a Friday jaunt. We'd stepped out of the therapist's office, after an hour of talking, but mostly me, sobbing over old ghosts that have been living under my skin, for years. The grief over my dead mother. My beautiful mother who hammered herself with alcohol until she didn't anymore. She got clean. But still, a ghost. And the nightmares of the dead ex-husband, what a smile. The drinking one who had me up against the wall by the end.
You think you've moved on but some things stick, they hang around. Like a stray dog that keeps showing up at the back door. You talk things out with friends, fill notebooks, see somebody. And still, you're not quite in your skin. It always comes down to surrender. To believing there's a way across to the other side, finding the bridge.
That's when we saw the rainbow.
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