It's a bit harder to blog these days. Not because there is nothing to write about. On the contrary. There is plenty to share with you. The truth of the matter is, the closer I get to Los Angeles, the more my emotions are hanging on by a thread.
When planning this trip, I knew parts of it would be disquieting, but this portion of the journey has turned out to be so much harder than I ever imagined. I am in no way looking forward to Los Angeles. San Francisco was different and was certainly an eye opener, but I wasn't homeless there. It was a different feeling altogether than what I am experiencing now.
I knew there would be some upsetting sentiment attached, simply because I am only a few miles away from where my innocence was lost and my life became a prerequisite for a Stephen King novel. I haven't been back to this area in 30 years and I don't really want to be here now, but I know that I know, that I know, I am doing what is being asked of me.
My heart is pounding so loudly, I am sure the people at the next table can hear it. It's hard to catch my breath sometimes and my mind is racing through the 'What ifs' of life. What if I see those two small children, 3 and 5 years old, standing their crying because their mother drove off without them? What if I see that small hand reach out to hold mine only to find out it is no longer there? What if I hear the cries of hunger that can not be satiated? What if I never see them again?
What if I should walk down the street where it happened? What if that man sitting two tables over to the left is the same man that was never punished for his leadership participation of the crime of some 30 years ago? He could be. He has a scar on his right thumb. But this man is old and wrinkled. But what if it is him. What if he recognizes me? Will he care? Will he do it again?
Of course, I have learned over the years that the 'What ifs' of life can get you into trouble. Today I am afraid, but I remind myself that I survived the actual events once before. I will survive the memory of those circumstances as well, knowing that walking beside me each step of the way is the God who protected me the first time around. Why would he do any less now?
So I write about the pain, I write about the memories, because there are others out there whose today's or tomorrow's may be saved because I shared my yesterdays.