This Too Shall Pass

Always trying to please, she gives all and more. Like a windup doll, she performs the bidding of those she lives for. She places her worries on bended knee, counting her rosary beads. Often the demands are too much or something hurts her. She whispers, "This too shall pass".

She is grateful for the roof over her head, the food on the table as she follows the lead of her Italian mother. Her children are a gift from God and a cherished duty to raise. They have chores and if not done, she is, after all, the responsible one. So she whispers, "This too shall pass".

Her husband, a strict and demanding fellow, works long hours, brings home the bacon as he often reminds her. She smells perfume and sees the lipstick stains, perhaps an office party or an employee seeking comfort. She whispers, "This too shall pass".

No vacations or new clothes, a tight household budget, and no money of her own. Her children grow and leave home. In the mirror is an old woman with deep lines and a frightful stare. She throws the rosary beads in the trash.

One night she reads a delightful eye opening novel. There is money stashed high in the closet from careful hiding and lying. She had dared to dream. Her time had come. That night she watches her husband lying there. He is a walrus; nasty whiskers, snoring loudly, an old ugly face. She gathers her bags, treasures and coat. She whispers coldly, "Don't worry, old crotchety fart, this too shall pass!"

By Kathie Stehr