REFLECTIONS IN TIME

REFLECTIONS IN THE MIRROR ARE NOT ALWAYS WHAT THEY APPEAR, EVEN WHEN YOU SEE SMILES, JOYS, OR TEARS. THE MIRROR DOES NOT TELL ALL.

SISTERS IN THE REFLECTION ARE AS DIFFERENT AS THEY APPEAR, EVEN THOUGH THE WORLD SAYS, "HOW VERY ALIKE YOU ARE". .

FROM OUTER REFLECTIONS THAT MAY BE TRUE...BUT DEEP IN THE HEART, THE MIND, THE BODY, AND THE SOUL,THEY ARE INDIVIDUALS WITH VERY DIFFERENT THOUGHTS AND BELIEFS.

THEY WILL SHARE THOUGHTS, LOVES, CONFLICTS AND TRUTH. THEY WILL AGREE TO DISAGREE, AND MAYBE NOT SPEAK FOR AWHILE. UNTIL ONE CALLS AND SAYS, "WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT ANYWAY?" AND ONCE MORE THE LAUGHTER WILL BEGIN.

THEY WILL DEFEND EACH OTHER TO SOMEONE ELSE TO THE END, THEY WILL BE FRIENDS, AND WHEN HEAVEN OPENS UP THE DOOR TO ONE OF THEM....THE OTHER WILL GRIEVE THE LOSS OF HER SISTER AND DEAR FRIEND. AND THE REFLECTION OF THE TEARS IN THE MIRROR, WILL BE REAL.

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MY FATHER            by b. Malin

He stood at the window staring out. I knew without even looking up, that he was there. It used to irritate me so, his "window vigil." Why did he do it...what was he staring out at?

I was sixteen when I first started to notice it, and at first, it struck me funny. It almost became my "game," when I came home from school. I would get off the bus, and look up at our apartment on the fifth floor, and there he'd be, peering out from the big picture window in the living room.  We lived alone, my father and I.

By the time I caught the elevator and entered the apartment, he would be seated in his big red leather chair, pretending to be engrossed in a book or a newspaper. He'd look up for a moment, ask what I'd had for lunch, or how was school, and then go back to his reading. Talk was tight with him. 

When I was eighteen, "my impatient years", I would catch him at the window more and more. It was like his whole world was becoming that picture window. He knew that I would be moving on, out into the world.

When I married and moved to the city.... my Father was left alone....which was the way I thought he had wanted to be. Alone with his window....no more interruptions from me.

He came to see me one windy day late in March, during my first year of marriage. He asked for a glass of brandy and I drank some tea, and we talked, we really talked! He told me he was lonely in the apartment by himself, and what would I think if he got married?

What would "I" think? He actually wanted MY opinion.

All those years of silence, from waking till sleeping....and now my words and opinions were important to him! Was it because I soon was to become a parent, my belly bulging with my first child.

I took a sip a tea, and then give him my blessings, as I gently rubbed my belly and my child within. I think that I saw a tear in his eye as he cleared his throat and asked me how I felt? I knew when I answered him, that he was listening... My Father was really listening to me.

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Maybe what we don't hear sometimes, is really the important part. by b. Malin