My mom finally gave me the go-ahead to share the news of her colon cancer diagnosis; I've been living with it --mostly silently-- for, save a few mentions to a few people I hold dear to me, several weeks now, and to say that it's worn on me would be an understatement. But (with the aforementioned emotional state in mind) I can't really describe how it does feel, so I guess I'll just let that lie for now. Then this morning brought the news that her longtime partner, Harvey, had passed away at a nursing home. And my heart broke a little for her, knowing that she wasn't able to be with him, thanks to the awful conflation of events that include her own current stint in the hospital and COVID19.
I tried to distract myself with the busy-ness of moving (since today was the day we rented a truck and planned to haul all of our bigger pieces of furniture to the new house) but the sadness of it all --the God, where are You?! of it all-- cast deep, long shadows in my heart that try though I did, I couldn't fully illuminate with positive thoughts and prayers.
So as the hours of daylight grew thin, I stole away to the observation deck (as I think I'll call it) that sits at the top of our backyard and waited for the sun to dip behind the distant hills. A chilly breeze whipped around me but I breathed in that crisp air and closed my eyes and tried to find a central point that felt normal. It didn't really work, but I was reminded --as the orange faded to yellow and then blue and gray-- that tomorrow will be another day to try all over again. So for that chance and for this first-ever night in our new house, I am grateful. (And for your prayers and notes and messages, I am more grateful. Because this girl -- this girl is not built for social isolation. Especially not right now.)
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