I opened my eyes to this day while yesterday’s pain washed over me like an uncomfortable lukewarm shower.
The neighborhood is still silent except for a few happy birds. Later, dozens of lawn mowers will be buzzing, and cars will make trips to ball games and Home Depot. Children will be screeching at the park. Dogs will bark.
Life forges ahead.
My children are sleeping quietly. Joey’s face is full with morning puffiness and his lips are parted slightly, as his breath moves his tiny chest up and down rhythmically. The dog is curled up beside him in a furry ball, finally finding some relief from his high-strung personality.
I have a food plan and a list of household chores and lawn work to do today, which should keep my body occupied, but probably my mind will spin. Probably those icky feelings of despair and hopelessness will haunt me in the middle of cleaning out a box from the garage or mowing my tiny yard. I will practice feeling the pain for a few moments and then deny it again so that I can move through my day and find some joy in my new life and the fine weather.
I suppose I shouldn’t buy the bike, given my pending fiancial disaster, but maybe my life depends on the happiness I foresee when I pedal my troubles away like I did as a child. Maybe I can’t afford NOT to get the bike.
Stray tears still drip uncontrollably from my eyes; how is it possible that I still have any left to shed?