Just a thought… From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story. A story that says “I have survived.” Turn your wounds into wisdom. [Craig Scott]
I’d like to begin today with a heartfelt Passover wish for those who are celebrating, but especially to folks who are missing beloved family at their table tonight. I’m hearing of Seders being held via Zoom and wish all a chag Pesach samech.
In this corner of the world, the lovely food exchange continues: yesterday, as delivered fresh homemade turkey noodle vegetable soup to two separate sets of friends in Sidney, plus another container for our elderly neighbours next door. The gorgeous daffodils you’ll see below are from that couple – such a beautiful exchange!
I’ll confess to a shiver of dread when, after I’d dropped it off before a dog walk, I saw an ambulance pass slowly through our neighbourhood when we returned. Honestly, my cooking is not lethal.
The soup was pretty awesome and what’s best about it is sharing it. Because that’s what they’ve done for us, whether it was meals in BC (before coronavirus), dinners delivered or picking up groceries. How I love being able at least to pop out and drop off, have a quick top-down drive in the MINI and come back safe and sound.
I did share something a few weeks back on a Facebook Live chat with Kevin Frankish that I’ve been regretting ever since. Deeply regretting. Like keeping-me-awake-at-night regretting. So, I’m going to go back to my Catholic roots (as opposed to the dark ones I’m seeing daily in the mirror) and confess, hoping that whoever listens above us or reads here below will hear me.
Kevin Frankish and I were talking about – what else – the COVID-19 virus and the anxiety that it’s causing. I admitted to being as anxious as everyone else, but then I said, “I’m not afraid of dying; it means I’ll see our daughter.” At the time, I meant that. I really am not afraid of death if it reunites our souls.
But this past weekend, as our hearts leapt at the joys of sharing Facetime with our Ottawa family and opening a card they’d sent; as we basked for hours in the sweet pleasure those moments brought, I was hit upside the head with a revelation. No, I do not want to go.
I don’t want to catch a virus, get hit by one of the few buses running these days, or fall down the stairs after tripping on a dog toy. I want to stay around for a while. I can’t leave Colin and miss seeing who this beautiful, funny, sensitive boy grows up to be. I can’t reneg on a promise that we made to watch over him and make sure he becomes the man Lauren would have been proud of, something of which we’re already assured in the steady loving hands of Phil and Brooke. And little Jane’s journey is just beginning!
I’m not sure what made me say what I did; a false bravado, perhaps, or a bit of a fatalistic whim that I’d been pondering for days and then said aloud?
Because I did say those words to someone other than Rob, and I realized partway through the time with Kevin that, yes, our family in Ottawa was watching, those words just sounded wrong. Flat-out wrong.
I want to be here for them – and I know that Lauren will wait. After all, a lifetime here on earth is hardly but a blink of an eye in the universe. And besides, I have an inauguration to watch in January.
You didn’t think I’d forgotten that thing, did you?
Tomorrow: got afternoon plans? I thought not. Come back here to find out what’s in store.