There’s a light in the darkness, though the night is black as my skin; there’s a light burning bright, showing me the way, but I know where I’ve been – Hairspray
Nine days ago, I sat in a crowded oncology office,
The patient in front of me took longer than usual. He was young, tired, gray.
I knew that look.
Do I look sick? I said to David.
I messaged a friend who was also waiting. Waiting for specialist results. Waiting for answers. Waiting to know if there was a big reason why all these little things wouldn’t seem to go away.
They’d not heard anything yet.
An hour later, the doctor called for me. Here we go, I thought.
I’m just trying not to hang on too tight.
A friend of ours said these words as we celebrated with them this week. After years of hard work and manifold bends in the road, they are in a positive, hopeful, great place. So great, in fact, they can’t bear to think that right now might not last for the rest of their lives.
But they’re old enough to know better.
These past few days I’ve wondered if I have a stamp on my forehead that says, my life’s a little intense right now, so please make it harder, if you can. I’m so sure this sign exists – perhaps even has blinking lights around it – that the edginess of a few weeks ago looks happy in comparison to the feisty, cynical bark escaping me now.
The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear. – H.P. Lovecraft
Life was trickling along happily this summer.
And then September came.
September is a cruel month, for kids and moms. The shopping, planning, early mornings, and fights over what to wear (I think that’s a girl thing), shocks us all out of the lazy, hazy days of summer.
September was even more cruel this year, since summer didn’t start until August 3rd, or so, and peaked just after Labour Day.
But a week into Grade One, we heard Noelle had – miraculously – gotten a spot at the fine arts school, a place I just knew would be right for her, a place I thought it would take years to get her into.
She started her new school in Level 2 reading. A week and a half later, she was in Level 5.
Right now, she’s reading Amelia Bedelia to us at bedtime.
So when this mid-September school change hump was past, I started to get comfortable. I started to think, this is it. I started to believe my life – and Noelle’s, and David’s, and even little Elliana’s – would be light years better.
David is snickering right now, because just this morning we argued over the meaning of the phrase ‘light year.’ Read more