Hope

The Right Medicine

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My grandmother called them “nerve pills”.  She would go to the doctor and get a prescription for anti-anxiety pills.  I wonder what demons chased her.  I wonder why she could be so violently angry and yet so generously loving.

When I was growing up, she would come spend the night and sleep with me in my bed.  She would rub my back for the longest time.  I guess until I fell asleep sometimes.  That was good medicine for me.  I need to be touched to feel loved.  I need hugs and kisses and cuddles and back rubs to feel all is right with the world.

These days those kinds of things are scarce in my life.  There is only him and infrequently my angel baby to provide such affection.  That need in me is why in never put a certain baby down when she is with me.

I must often turn to another kind of good medicine.  A muddy waterhole on the Neches River.  It is actually a legitimate lake.  Neglected and dismissed in the shadow of grander drama queens in the area.  She is home to me as much as this house in which I live.

When the tears flow, I run to her like a mother.  I walk through my abandoned parkway and the tears fall.  I call out to the ones who have gone before.  I call out to Him.  Always, I am met with one or the other of them.  This evening my grandmother, not the one above, but the other one, passed through my mind.  I talked to her and felt her presence.  I could see her clearly and recall images of us together.

I was overcome with despair and grief at the losses I have faced.  But, then suddenly, unexpectedly, something changed.  Rather than ending in resignation and toiling home to endure a season of sadness, I stopped in my tracks and turned to the water.  I spoke out loud.

“I do not want to feel this way.  I do not want to be sad and grieving.  I do not want to feel useless and without purpose.  I will not do this.  I will not despair.”  And I looked out over my muddy waterhole and saw the beautiful lady that she is to me.  I was filled with courage, peace and strength.

Further evidence of my ever improving emotional health.  See my beautiful lady.  She shines gracefully and serenely.  Welcoming my tears and returning them to me as calmness.  She is my nerve pill.  Just to have her in sight is enough to allow me to reach deeply into my soul and straighten out the tangles of darkness.  I never know which of my ancestors will meet me.  My Lord always meets me.  And my lady, the lake herself, patiently awaits.  I live here on a hill above her.  I cannot see her from here, but she in only minutes away on running feet.  Comfort to me for as much of my half century I can recall.  Here she is in her cold winter evening shimmer, veiled with black lace.  Isn’t she lovely?

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New Year

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Once again I am late writing.  I wonder why I forgot this evening.  I noted it this morning on my list.  The list I didn’t get to after I got home from work.

Lists.  Obsessive compulsive list making.  My son has it, too.  I like making lists.  I write them, organize them. Rewrite them.  I am afraid to toss some of them.  Grocery lists and simple chore lists are easy to toss.  But, some lists.  They reveal my dreams and goals and fears.

With the new year approaching, it is time for another review of my progress.  How am I doing at becoming a better human being?  Am I gaining ground?  Sometimes it seems as if I am fighting a losing battle.  Perhaps no battle is really lost until it ends.  I have not stopped fighting.

I had several things preoccupying my mind at work today.  He had a doctor’s appointment and I was a little concerned about the issue.  Thanks to Him, all is just fine.  I have some deadlines for projects looming and am scrambling to get them done and keep up with the daily issues.

But, after work, my real concern was getting some supper cooked.  I wanted to make him cheeseburgers.  I did.  Toasted buns, our favorite steak seasoning on the meat, homemade dill pickles, Velvetta cheese.  I don’t even know if he liked them.  He didn’t say.  But, I enjoyed making them for him.

I like for him to tell me when I please him, even though I only half believe him.  I accuse him of just being polite.  Yes.  He can be very polite to me.  But, sometimes…………….

I am better in many ways.  My grief is improving.  I did have a few days of feeling like doom was impending.  But, it seems to have passed.  I think my house is fairly organized.  I am getting the essentials done in a timely fashion.  Things don’t pile up as much.

The new year approaches.  Yes. I will have some goals.  Nothing new.  Just continuing to improve to a new level of performance.  Becoming a better being.  I hope.

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