Woke up in sweat, the air conditioner struggling to keep up to the raw Texas summer didn't improve as I went about my morning routine. Walked out of the house without my inhaler, pretty sure I can blame the heat made me dizzy with thoughts of getting to the cool comfort of the truck. Drove to work in a daze. Looking back probably due to a lack of oxygen. The school district in a play to save money does not heat nor cool the hallways- great for asthma. After lunch went to chat with a friend, friendship has a way of hitting that reset button on a bad day. She got news that her Grandfather, a young 89, has declared himself too old to travel and has canceled the family vacation.
Unwilling I was back at my Grandmother's house listening to the delicate breaths from her hospital bed. Breaths, turned to soft whimpers morphing to moans of discomfort and aggravation that reverberate around the room. I didn't want to bother her. Didn't want to grab her frail hand. Didn't want to say good-bye in hopes it would make her stay till I was ready. She didn't wait. When something huge happens in your life your brain takes it in then lets you deal with it in smaller chunks. Grief can swallow you whole. Grandmother passed two years ago yet I still get flashes of intense sadness and regret. Witnessing my friend go through the first stages of the letting go brought it all back with a cruel intensity.
I carry an image of myself as bent over- back loaded with bags feet stumbling trying to find footing up a steep almost impossible mountain. Seems many times that my friends, coworkers and everyone around me are on this same route but their load is smaller and they are flying past me. I've seen some that don't have to carry a thing and are being carried instead.. I fight with the twelve year old urge to shout at them that this is not fair but they have already left me here alone. Is it their fault that my burden is so much? Is it their fault that they don't carry a burden? Maybe instead of shouting at them I should be going through my baggage and throwing some off the mountain. I stand looking at the bags I have carried with love and determination and cannot pick which one has to go. Instead I stand on the mountain crying wishing someone would help me pick up my pack and keep climbing.
Maybe I'll just go to bed, after a scoop of ice cream.
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