Small graces

I am the kind of tired you don't get. I am the kind of tired that gets you. Every little thing is impossible to decide. Every action is like swimming through melted glass.

I am afraid to go out because of the unpredictable rains of tears. Last night it was the grocery store cookie aisle. Pepperidge Farm Ginger Man cookies. My sister loved those things. I cried a little and bought some in her honor.

Then the dreaded question: "How are you?" Not from people you know. From strangers. I lie pretty good, mostly. "Good, thanks." It feels like the most monstrous lie and I can barely squeeze it out.

Sometimes they say something "You look so tired." "Do you have the flu?" Then I balance on the verge of tears, trying not to say it. Because "My sister just died," is a huge hand grenade to drop in the middle of a conversation with a stranger and they really don't deserve it. On the other hand, by then I am beginning to get blotchy and to dissolve into tears and they already know they have stepped in it...

Yesterday at the coffee place I was buying beans and the girl asked "How are you?" and I said "That is a question my attorney has advised me not to answer." A joke but she could tell something wasn't right. Later she said "Well, I hope the rest of your day gets better" and all of a sudden I breathed in and it turned out to be this horrible ragged gasp that shocked us both.

That kind of stuff.

Everyone has been tremendous. Friends, family, church.

Goldie is especially concerned for me and climbs up on the bed to snuggle me and leans against my leg the rest of the time. Dogs know.

On the plane back from Chicago, I got such a funny blessing. There was a lady in the window seat who didn't speak English. Me in the aisle seat, no one in between. I was worried about how I was going to keep from crying for 4 hours. Before we took off, the window lady made a phone call and started crying. I gave her some tissue. I started crying. We smiled weakly at each other. I put the tissue package of the seat between us and we cried whenever we needed to throughout the flight. Row 31, the row of unspoken misery where it is ok to cry. It was such a relief to have that freedom.

Small graces, strung together moment by moment, lead us forward through days of sorrow.

Thanks again for all your kind words and thoughts.