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Last updated: November 12, 1997 | |
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| LinkExchange Member | Free Home Pages at GeoCities |
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By: Charles Rawls As I stand in front of the house that I had always dreamed I'd have when I was settled and married, I can't help but feel a little pride in all that I have accomplished in my lifetime. They say that people do sometimes get that special something that they have always wanted. I believe that to be true. As I approach the front door to my two-story dream house, I can hear my daughter blasting away her music. It finds its way out her window and into the air. To me, she is my greatest accomplishment. Reaching the door, I slowly twist the gold-colored knob and push the door open. I pause to survey the layout of the den. It's where my associates from the office and I spend most of our Monday nights watching football. I continue my walk towards the hallway. It leads to my favorite room. It was my wife's favorite room too as I recall. She personally did all the decorating in the room. You can tell by the color scheme that her favorite color was blue. The walls are covered with blue-and-white wallpaper which needs to be redone. I cannot bring myself to redo them, though. I walk across the cream-colored carpet and relax on the blue spread covering the queen-size bed in the left corner of the room. This was suppose to be our daughter's room. That's what we had decided the first day my wife told me that she was pregnant. Down on the floor in front of me, I see a photo album which is opened to a picture of me, Cheryl, and our daughter Denise. At the time, Denise was only four. I wish she had gotten the time to get to know her mother. She was such a remarkable woman. If you look at the picture long enough, you notice how thin Cheryl had become. The doctors said she had only a few months to live. She was a real fighter, though. She fought right down to the last week of her life. "I miss her a lot, dad," Denise says as I look up from the picture to see her standing in front of me. I notice that the photo album is covered with little puddles formed from my tears. "I miss her too," I say. Denise looks so much like her mother that I can't help but smile at her. The way she acts reminds me of Cheryl. It seems as though Cheryl lives on in Denise, our daughter. She has been the only thing that has kept me going. We both have the same hole in our hearts. It's the place where my beloved wife, her dear mother, and our comforter once was. They say that people do sometimes get that special something that they have always wanted. They never say how long you get to keep it, though. |
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Chuck is not a fictional character but in know way represents anyone except the webmaster of this site. Please don't try to do the things that Chuck does. It may be hazardous to your health. Thank You For Your Time, and Come Again |
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