Lately, I’ve felt like this snow person.
I knew my attitude desperately needed to shift when I stepped out of the shower yesterday and blurted, “I’ve lost all faith,” to our dog, Chewy, who was casually licking my wet feet. I knew I had to snap out of this bubble of hopelessness as I stood there, dripping wet, and watched the dog lick my feet.
What the hell. I’m a mess. Maybe you’re a healer with very big ears. Get the pinky toe while you’re at it.
Ever since Dad fell out of bed and cracked his neck, like a skinny Humpty Dumpty, I’ve been putting the pieces back together, slowly.
“Wait a minute. Of course, you’re feeling low. You were just starting to sink into the fact that Dad lived with you, after a whole year, and now, he’s not there! Give yourself a break,” Neeny said.
In the midst of Humpty’s fall and whole families being swept out to sea in Japan, I caught Michael’s very bad cold and felt terrible for the past five days.
One day, flip-flops and a t-shirt, the next, it’s snowing. I woke today more hopeful, not quite so fragmented; my fragile faith had a pulse.
“Does my face look like me again?” I asked Michael.
“My face? I’ve been looking like one of those outer space people that Captain Kirk would meet on his adventures. Very large head, slits for eyes, scales. Not dangerous, just swollen and weird.”
“Honey,” Michael said, “That’s so not true.”
It was so true. Trust me.