I stand on the sidewalk.
Outside: sunny, summer day. Blooming flowers. Cars drive by. Bikers ride by. Dogs bark. Life is pretty normal for a small town.
Meanwhile, there is another reality on the other side of the house's door.
Inside: a woman lays on her bed, dying of cancer. Shades drawn. Dim light. Hushed tones. Heavy air. Her husband lays beside her to comfort her. A typical picture for this household for the last couple weeks.
All this not 30 feet from where I stand. And the outside world has no idea. The house's exterior certainly shows no sign of the sadness it contains: cheery paint, energetic dogs in the back yard, green grass...
I suppose this happens all the time, great sadness and life-as-normal pushed together, side by side, separated by a thin wall, if even that. In fact, I know it happens all the time. But exiting that house after my mom visited her dying friend for yet another time, the abrupt change really hit me: inside/outside, dark/bright, quiet/normal, sad/unaware...
I guess I just say this to point out how little we know: I walk down a street and have no idea that inside one house may reside grief, dark and heavy, while inside the next, new joy awakens. This certainly is the case with people's hearts too: Passing by a person, her expressionless exterior may hide a broken heart, or it may hide a peaceful one. Just a couple feet away...
It's all life, I guess. It just seems particularly ironic, and a little tragic.
--Ellen P.
