Yesterday after writing the blog I started crying. I can often feel like crying but rarely do, even if I’m depressed. It’s messy, hard to breathe, feel helpless, so I don’t like to go there. It wasn’t so much feeling sad for myself, but real, palpable fear. I decided to reach out, picked up the phone and called family and friends, no one home, answering, left long, tearful messages.
I’m much calmer now, remembering to focus on what I know, not to fear what I don’t, and take it one day at a time, one breath at a time. I’m still scared, cherishing everything, which is never a bad thing to do, woke up at 2 am and listened to more Iron and Wine, Our Endless Numbered Days, and George Winston, Winter into Spring, until about 4:30, when I asked Jason, “You want me to make breakfast for you?”
Earl Grey tea for him smells good, ancient in the best sort of way, with a bit of Splenda and cream. Biscuits baking in the oven, scrambled eggs with pepper and freshly grated Parmesan, since we were out of salt, although I would have added the cheese anyway.
We eat watching the morning news, shaking our heads at this and that, except the weather, pleasing to hear forecast. Jason heads on to work, after hugging me for a long time. We used to hug for the longest time when we were first dating, before I would let him kiss me for the first time.
The silence felt appropriate to keep after he left, not wanting to disturb the upstairs neighbors, getting ready, doing a quick pedicure, An Affair with Red, by OPI, a color I craved at Christmastime which now seems garish to Jason and me both, but what can you do? hee — hoping for a nice modern orange soon, on the lookout. Yoga felt great, calming, centering, until at the end with child’s pose, “Blessings,” I thought, my most common mantra after “Spirit.” I smiled deeply, surprised that I would so automatically repeat something I needed so much to hear this morning, for indeed I am blessed. Always.
Hearing the songbirds — Robins, Cardinals, Mockingbirds — with their preliminary mating calls, before the fighting starts, before the Mockingbirds start attacking us in defense of their nests — it always seems so silly that it comes to that for them — it’s still refreshing to hear their calls stirring the air again, another sign of Spring! Everything seems poignant at first and I have these deep releases of sighs that I hold on to as they pass through my mouth, like a reverse kiss almost, holding on, needlessly. Let go. Somewhere, somehow, all the senses receive these various signals, the Sunlight, the frost on the grass, the calls from the bog, Chipper’s tail swinging high, back and forth, up in the air — I feel this smile again, this irrepressible joy, a miracle.