Along with grief comes a lot of triggers to bad, sad, traumatic and scary memories that can be really hard to deal with. I had PTSD after Mr. Virgo died and I really wanted to just turn off my brain and never remember anything again...ever. Thank goodness, that’s not how it works. I had “grief brain” for a couple of years, but as the bad memories faded to the background, I was really pleased the good memories could billow up in their place.

I’ve had seven surgeries in my life. When I go see a new doctor and they take a surgical history, I laugh and tell them it’s quicker to tell them what I have left than it is to tell them what all I’m missing. No one relishes having surgery. But, yesterday...I finally got the word I’ve been waiting for for the last three years. I had a phone consult with an endocrine surgeon yesterday and he said, after carefully reviewing all my studies, lab results and medical history, I need to have a tumor removed from my parathyroid gland.

When Mr. Virgo had his heart attack, we were standing in a camper deciding which one we wanted to take us into retirement. A little less than four hours later, he was gone. The cardiologist came in to sit with me and explain what a “widowmaker” was. It’s the kind of heart attack caused by a sudden 100% blockage of the left anterior descending artery in the heart. You seldom survive that, especially if other arteries are also blocked, or partially blocked. It’s a snatch death...unexpected, sudden, unimaginable.

I’m in the hope business. My glass is always full...even when it doesn’t look that way. It may only have a drop of water left, but the rest is filled with air. Even though you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t important. Most unseen things are. Being hopeful in difficult circumstances can be challenging, but it’s infinitely easier if you remember your glass is filled with lots of unseen things....love, faith, and that sometimes elusive yet forever ubiquitous element of life called HOPE.

When I sat down to write last night, I closed my eyes and let my breath go deep and slow. I often do this when I’m “fishing”...trying to find just the right story to tell you today. This is the last day of 2020. Lord, what a year it has been. We know where we’ve been. We know where we are now. And, we hope we have a good idea where we’re going in the coming 365 days.

My grandma had all kinds of sayings that were descriptive and puzzling and funny and weird. Some were long handed down colloquialisms. Some were just those inside jokes that develop within the family and you’re surprised no one else has heard them...they’re just so accurate. One saying she used a lot...it was an Appalachian take on Karma. If you did something you might not ought to have done, or if you made a simple mistake that came back to bite you in the butt later, Grandma would exclaim... “Well, your chickens are just coming home to roost.” Meaning...you’re going to have to pay for that one.

The house here on the Ponderosa was built in the ‘70s. The closets have sliding mirrored doors, strategically placed so that when I roll out of bed in the morning, my dimply white cheese thighs glare at me unforgivingly. 

“Look what you’ve done to us,” they shout! “We used to be so pretty!!!”

Now that it’s Monday, Christmas 2020 is officially over. The tree will stay up for as long as we want this year. Of all seasons, this is the one we need to pour as much love and light into as it can possibly hold. Even though this year was certainly challenging, Christmas was not without its joys. We were able to exchange gifts remotely and in person, although socially distanced. It’s really hard not to hug these kids! The time will come again when we can...it’s not forever, it’s just for now, right?

As soon as Christmas was over, I told Mr. FixIt we need a little down time. There are things that need doing in the coming weeks, but right now there is nothing more pressing than fixing a meal every day, knitting, and maybe watching a movie or taking a nap. I love Christmas, but I love the week after just as much. 

I was dreading Christmas. I haven’t seen my Colorado peeps in nearly 17 months. I haven’t held my great grandbabies since February...one was only a few weeks old the last time I held him. Now he’s nearly a year old and almost walking. After a year of fear...from strokes to covid  to politics...I was just not up for it. Then, something interesting happened.