A Knock at the Door by Melinda Cochrane ( scroll down for part 1 and 2)

I listened again and this time it grew louder. I was frozen between wanting to go forward and the fear that held me back. I imagined it was important. A trepidation set in that something was wrong with a family member. I walked toward the door as if the path in front of me marked the beginning of things that would change my life forever. Each step I took forward led me to think about the life I had before. Would it ever go back to normal? I heard it again as I walked closer to the front door. A sound that seemed to define my very existence in the silence. 

A knock at the door.

Walking slowly as if in a black and white film with no sound. I recalled the last conversations I had with my children. Did they know I loved them? I fell back on the memories of events passed to give me the strength to move toward what was unknown, to what I feared and to what I wanted to go away. The walls with paintings rained over me as I walked from the shadows of my early morning sleep. It felt as if the steps I took were through a history of wars our generation had never taken before. I imagined families hearing about soldiers this way. The paint began to chip off the walls in my home and with each imagined peeling I saw nothing but the answers ahead of me. 

I reached the front door and without thinking I pulled the door open. 

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