She grew up poor as a church mouse but didn’t know it. She took in every stray cat there was within a country mile. She fiercely protected her brother with the stutter and the lazy eye. She walked a mile to catch the bus for the 40 mile round trip to school. She got a college education because that’s what her parents insisted of all of their kids...poor or not.
It’s so easy to slip into the “comfort zone”. Once you’re there, you definitely want to stay. There have been so many times I’ve been yanked out of my comfort zone...kicking and screaming. And every single time, I’ve grown bigger and better because of it.
When I was uncomfortably ensconced in a “Behavioral Unit” after the overdose, I went from reading Harry Potter to my daughter at night to harsh lights, loud voices, scary people, and a strictly supervised environment. I remember telling someone I felt like a slug on a hot griddle. The cells in my brain felt like they were sizzling. I was most definitely uncomfortable, but I discovered an inner warrior I had never really known.
Ghosting. It’s really more of a millennial term used when a less than mature individual chooses to end a relationship by simply ceasing all contact with the person they were dating. SO 8th grade. Unfortunately, it also adequately describes what happens when widow(er)s find the people they thought they could count on suddenly nowhere to be found. It’s a thing. It happened to me and I’m sure, grieving or not, it’s happened to you at some point.
When the sun went down yesterday, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was sitting in the truck in front of Walmart. After a few days of laying low at the house, Mr. FixIt was ready to get out and about a little bit. We drove to town and went to Kohl’s to get him a new belt. Then we went to our favorite diner for an early dinner. At 5:00, we drove to Walmart and the phone rang. I had a conference scheduled to discuss my brother’s care in Colorado. (He’s doing well, by the way. Just aging, as we all are.) As I was listening to his caregivers’ reports, two things happened. First, my daughter called and I had to let it go to voicemail. Then, Mr.FixIt said, “I’m going on in. I have my phone.” And off he went.
There is nothing like a health scare to shake you up....wake you up. After losing Mr. Virgo the way I did, my fear level Friday night isn’t surprising. But, now we’re here...we’re home...we’re processing. We’re walking on eggshells a little bit...feeling our way out on the ice to make sure it’s solid beneath us.
I take my vows very seriously. To love and cherish. Always. In ALL ways. Nowhere was that more apparent to me than this weekend.
We are home. There’s no place like home.
We are exhausted. Living on adrenalin and coffee with very little sleep will do that.
First, let me thank you for your prayers Friday night. This one was for us. My sweet Mr. FixIt had a stroke Friday night. It was mild, but concerning enough that he is in the hospital for a couple of nights for tests. My heart was pounding out of my chest and wave after wave of hot flushes rushed over me. Visions of the final trip to the ER with Mr. Virgo had me in a near panic.
There was a time when I found myself stuck on the medical treadmill. Get treated for something. Get side effects. Get treated for the side effects. Get more side effects. Get more treatment. It was a vicious cycle and I honestly believe if I hadn’t suffered the overdose, that treadmill would have been the death of me.
You’ve heard of “The Running of the Bulls?” Well, every year about this time, I participate in the running of the bags. I have got to be the world’s most disorganized person. Every year...every single year...I swear that THIS year will be different. And every year, I write this same post.
Every day there are dragons to slay. Whether it’s climbing your way up the corporate ladder like an executive or working three jobs waiting tables as a single mom. Slaying dragons isn’t altogether “easy” as this meme intimates, but it makes a valid point. The heroes are the ones who slay the dragons and get up the next day with the intestinal fortitude to put on their armor. THAT is not easy.