Scratches to my Daughter

It was the beginning of February. The cold winds of winter were still late; perhaps the winters are different now. Perhaps the skies have foreboded the rains from us.  In this gloomy image I saw the change in the world. It was strong impulsive and bitter but hope arises when change breaks down the tears of the past. The road was clear, and the skies were pale in the grayness of the weak winter blanket. There wasn’t a soul on the narrow long road ahead.

I stopped my car and walked slowly towards the only tree lying on the side of this abandoned road; an old oak tree that explains the harshness of abandonment. Its branches spanned straight into the blue-gray skies, and the few orphaned leaves on the old branches revealed that the summer was harder than the coming springs. When I looked at the trunk of the tree a message was etched. I tried to decode the scratchy handwriting that seemed older than the road that passed. It read:

“Tell my Daughter to be proud; I took the right path”

                                                                        Martyr of freedom

I felt my heart pumping fast and my head began to turn around; how powerful these few words were, how astonishing a stranger has affected my life. I took out my journal and wrote:

“My dearest daughter

This the day I discovered how important my life is to you, and how more important my death is to myself. If I die one day, I want you to know that I love you, as much as I love your mother. If I die one day – and everybody will- and I hadn’t told you these words yet, please know that freedom is more important than the air we breathe and that you have been born into a world where we have lost our faiths in GOD; but GOD is the most merciful. Live your life with pride because your daddy has chosen the path to freedom.”

This post and song is dedicated to my daughter Sarah