Bah! It's a hard morning. Two of the three Musketeers are sick; it's cold and windy as hell; I'm brooding over the fact that this is the last week of my hospice class and a little nervous about my first overnight at the hospital on Saturday. My expensive, one-year-old laptop died yesterday and my phone is acting up, too. I've had a lot of trouble breathing this fall.
When I took Daisy out this morning I noticed that it was snowing. That quiet kind of snow that makes you ask, "Hey...is that snow?' And the Magnificent Seven are on the line shooting prayers back and forth. I'm trying to get them all to promise to dance naked at my funeral, and if I'm successful I'll start wishing for an early demise so you can all see how fucking gorgeous they are sooner rather than later. My friend whose name may actually be more fab than him -- Benedictus Emil -- sent a memo for the second day in a row, sharing with me the early morning visuals in the sky just outside the homeland, Saratoga Springs. I mean, come on, who doesn't want to hear about rainbows and the full-ish moon first thing in the morning?
Whenever I don't feel well or I'm overwhelmed by life's crap, I think of my mom. She's so tiny, only 4'11", but her heart, which is filled with motherly love, is enormous, and she is at her finest when she's taking care of one of us. She has small hands, and they're usually kind of cold, but if I close my eyes now, I can imagine her putting one on my forehead, magically making me feel like everything is going to be just fine. That's how powerful little Annie O'Brien is (to say nothing of her killer smile). She didn't have a cell phone to distract her when we were kids; she was there and she taught me the thing I want my kids to take with them when they go: the trust that a mother's hand will ease the pain brought on by being alive.
I can't stay in a funk for long. I mean, I try to feel sorry for myself, but in the end it's kind of pathetic. When I was making my tea this morning I realized that the honey I was adding came from the bees in the hive out back. We have our own honey suppliers. Sure, I have my first overnight at the hospital as the on-call chaplain this weekend, but fortunately I'll only be there to bear witness to the presence of God in the room and not performing open heart surgery. Two-thirds of my kids are home sick, but one-third is out in the world making his beautiful presence known. The laptop and phone are on the fritz right when my family needs their Mamma to slow down and nurture. Sometimes I fucking hate how life is always right.