It’s another day.
I awaken and my first thought is: ‘I’m still here’. I’m battle weary of the trenches of grief. Will I have the mental tenacity, the emotional stability, the physical durability to face another day? I then check to see which part of my body is in pain. How’s the hip? The leg? Can I move my hands without the ache? Should I take a pain reliever? Are my legs on the verge of a charlie horse? Are my toes curling downward? Can I bend my ankles without a spasm? Then…the grief. Once again I am reminded that my son is still gone.
The sobbing ensues. The oldest cat comes running, jumping onto the bed. He puts his nose up to mine to give me his morning greeting, and pushes his head against my arm to pet him. I look out the window and a beautiful bright orange Oriole has landed on the one tree branch in my view. I smile…it’s a good sign. I slowly move to get myself to my feet, still checking if all my body parts will cooperate. Making sure that I can feel my leg so I don’t collapse to the floor in another paralyzing moment. Things are good, I can stand.
The mail lady has left me a message. There’s a package waiting for me down in my box. I have no choice but to drive 2 1/2 miles to retrieve it. I do a quick wash up, feed the cats, and set out down the road. I pick up my neighbors’ mail, too. As I’m driving back, I’m still trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind. I stop at the neighbor’s to place his mail and another’s in his box, but he yells to me to ‘hold up’. I’m glad to talk, but not sure if I yet have my wits about me. He approaches the car and informs me of another neighbor’s strokes. He had two, but he’s back home. One thing leads to another, then the conversation turns to our children. No, I wasn’t prepared for this. The pain hits…the eyes tear up. Now he quickly changes the subject matter. We say our ‘talk to ya later’ good-byes, and I leave.
I have outdoor chores to attend to and the weather complies. I’m fussing with things as the man who had the strokes travels down the road in his old golf cart. He stops. His sad countenance is apparent as he relays he can no longer drive his car; he can no longer trim his bushes or attend to his beautiful garden. His son is afraid he will fall and be injured. He tells me all about the two strokes, which were mild, and his brief hospital stay. He then continues on his way. Shortly thereafter, he returns. He stops again. He lets me know he will be 94 on the 29th of July. He talks of his sadness of driving down to this end of the road. He mentions Gene, Buzzie, Pat, and others…all gone now. I remind him of Ernie and Bill, as well. He says he’d just like to make it to his birthday and recites his birth date: 7/29/23. He tells some old story of better times; his mind is slowly saying good-bye to a good life. Once again, he continues on his way. I wonder for a moment if that will be our last conversation.
Yes, grief is humbling. Gone are the days of feeling ‘on top of the world’. Such has been replaced only with Hope of leaving this world.
It’s another day.
2 Corinthians 4:16 ‘For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward [man] is renewed day by day.’
(((HUGS))) Jude Gibbs, Author of ‘Gifts from the Ashes’ available at: Xulon Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble and DeeperShopping. Additional international retailers: http://www.foyles.co.uk/witem/biography/gifts-from-the-ashes,jude-gibbs-9781498496728 http://www.upliftvstore.com/product.asp?sku=9781498496728 Also, a Contributor on ‘The Mighty’: https://themighty.com/author/jude-gibbs/
Please help spread the Word. TY! (((HUGS)))