The Barn

We all know what it’s like to lose someone, but how does it look when even The Barn is grieving?

The last time the lights worked in this barn was two years ago—the last time I paid the bill. The cows stopped mooing, the horses stopped neighing, the pigs stopped oinking and the chickens stopped clucking. My husband has been grieving since 1914. I told him to get over it, yet the room is still silent and our hearts are still pitless. I’ll never forget the words he left me with. “Don’t worry Ma, I’ll see you for Christmas”. . . A family picture on the wall is the only gift I have left–the only thing holding us together. No more laughs, just the sound of –what’s left of— our hearts, beating. The potent scent of Lieber Gustav no longer lingers in the air. It’s just stale–like my heart. Emptiness and sorrow are the only ones that keep me company as I look into the dark barn and see no one there.