A friend asks, "How are you doing with all that's been thrown your way?"
I reply, "Head up, shoulders back, takin' it as it comes. Tamping down the worries and turning 'em into prayer. Woke up with eyes that hurt from crying but a hot shower will help. It's a new day. The sun is out, the sky is blue and the birds are chirping and The Fight has just begun."
Then, "I know…and prayers to you and your family!"
A snippet of an early morning conversation on Facebook before I unplugged yesterday, on June 16, 2011. It'd be so easy to smile and say, "Fine", to reassure the person asking. Even if they know I'm lying through my teeth – and my tears. So many people have asked lately too. It's hard to know what to say that doesn't freak people out to their toes. They are worried too. I can see it in their eyes. Hear it in their tentative voice on the phone. How can I say there is a lump in my throat, my heart is heavy and I don't want to lose him now or ever because I love him so? That I need his arms to hold me and his strength and patience to get me through. His sense of humor too. That my children need their father. Now and always. So I speak the truth. And I assure them that their prayers are felt. That without them we wouldn't have the strength to get out of bed and do what needs to be done. Dishes. Laundry. Meals. The routines that keep you sane and the needs that need to be met to keep you from wallowing in the fear of The Great Unknown.
I took this picture of a robin perched on the neighbors rooftop after supper. I made some little slider burgers and we ate them on sliced Hawaiian sweet rolls because I'd forgotten to buy hamburger buns at the grocery store earlier that day. My husband was giving our oldest son a buzz cut on the deck in the backyard because his hair grows fast and it needed to be done. I'd gone outside to check on the progress of my garden. A small garden patch big enough for two rows of peas and eight tomato plants. On my way back in, I spied the robin next door. I quickly grabbed my camera from inside and was amazed he hadn't flown away but waited to pose and preen for me instead. Robin Red Breast. A sign of spring now past and rolling into the thick humidity that is summer in Illinois. A robin so beautiful in his brightly colored feathers and singing a melodious song. All the while reminding me of an early morning conversation with a friend that had begun the day, now ending.
© 2011, Janean Baird Turquoise Tangles