Carrying The Weight

The Bench — Stories from Silence

As I sat down on this bench, looking at all the names carved into its weathered wood, I thought about all the people who had sat here before me. Who, just like me, took in the view of the rugged hills that melted into the aquamarine waters below. The fog, that always seemed to be drifting in.

I thought about the couples. The ones sitting three feet apart, the bench stretching like the tension between them, “How’d we get here?” they’d ask, chest tight. Yet another, cuddled up, close as can be. A new, sparkly ring, “I can’t believe we got here!”. Their reminiscing accompanied by kisses.

I thought about the Dad, groaning with grief. Knowing his son is as far gone as if being thrown into the depths of this sea. I thought about the elderly woman, eyes closed, chin turned up, sun beaming down on her face. Sitting in complete peace.

I thought about those who sat here with anxiety. Those who sat here with deep relief. Those who doubted. Those who finally found a sense of certainty. I thought about all the people, each carrying different things.

And yet, this bench, it could carry them all. Nothing was too much or too heavy for it. It welcomed unbearable joy and gladness. Anguish and anger. Hope. Madness. It could carry loads of laughter, the deep belly kind. Loneliness, the feeling of being left behind. Ugly secrets, that are being kept in the dark. Confidence, beaming from a filled-up heart.

If you were to sit on this bench today, what would you bring? Be honest, it’s okay. Nothing is too big or too much. Too messy. Too dark. Too full. Too heavy. Too far gone. It can handle it — it won’t break. You can sit down, for once, and let something else carry your weight.