She Said It Plainly

She Said It Plainly
 
Monday, just before dawn. The house is still. The ache is not.
She wrote:
“I am the wife of a man with two TBIs. Bipolar. Anxiety. PTSD.
Make a book about the support system struggles too—because they are real.”
I carry her words into this morning.
They settle in me like a psalm half-sung, half-wept.
I think of the ones who hold.
The ones who stay.
The ones who break quietly and rebuild without applause.
Liturgical Refrain:
For the ones who hold—Lord, have mercy.
For the ones who stay—Christ, be near.
For the ones who break—Spirit, breathe peace.
For the ones unseen—God, remember.
I do not know her name.
But I know her prayer.
It lives in every threshold I’ve stood beside.
It echoes in the silence after someone says, “I’m fine,” and means, “I’m drowning.”
So I write.
Not to solve, but to stay.
Not to explain, but to honor.
Refrain (again, softer):
For the ones who hold—Lord, have mercy.
For the ones who stay—Christ, be near.
For the ones who break—Spirit, breathe peace.
For the ones unseen—God, remember.
Let this morning be a sanctuary.
Let this page be a witness.
Let her words shape the book I have not yet finished.
Amen.