Everyone agrees that 2020 was not a good year. And we were hoping to breathe a collective sigh of relief when 2021 arrived. I am pleased to be vaccinated, hence able to do some maskless mingling with friends. But for me the hits just keep on coming…
The year 2020 ended with a broken tooth ( I know, I know, you’re not supposed to chew the popcorn kernels), thus January began with a trip to the dentist for a crown. I have always been a model patient, but this time, for some inexplicable reason, I was petrified! Not so much of getting coronavirus—but scared of pain. Anxiety squared! But I survived.
February brought the very sudden death of my soulmate—who took his last breath while cutting firewood. That certainly knocked the wind out of me! Yet, I remain breathing.
A week or two after my husband’s death, I discovered human waste backing up in my toilet and shower and flooding part of the basement. I’m still grieving, mind you—but I call the plumber, and I get through it.
Memorial Day weekend, my well pump kicked the pail. I don’t know a thing about wells, and my other half is not here to take care of it. But good neighbors fixed it like new.
Two weeks later I suffer immense pain in the thumb on my dominant hand, accompanied by ugly purple swelling and nausea. I did slam my thumb in a door. And I did experience immediate pain after putting on a rubber glove. Spider bite? Infection after the door mishap? The wound clinic is not fun, but I have faith it will heal me.
Ordinarily I would feel picked on. The universe is against me. Or I am simply a magnet for the short end of the stick. But since my husband died, I’ve had to face all kinds of things head on! As a consequence, it now seems to take more to keep me down. I am a warrior woman!
Because I must keep going, I’ve learned that I can. And now, generally speaking, things don’t seem as dire as maybe they used to. In fact, sometimes the bad things beget good things: I have a dear friend who is a nurse, and she agreed to come change the dressing on my ugly thumb. I cringe when the bandage comes off. I am scared the sight will make me vomit, and anxious about pain.
But soon it is re-wrapped, and Florence Nightingale and I spend the remainder of the afternoon just shootin’ the breeze. It was a delightful, relaxing day that would have been far less lovely if she hadn’t come over. And if my thumb hadn’t been ill, she wouldn’t have come! Supreme friendship trumps spider bite. Just like good neighbors trump broken wells. And loyal plumbers are a salve to wounded widows standing in sludge.
I now rest easier in the wake of my husband’s death. In addition to being able to keep our home’s horizontal surfaces free from clutter, I am always so very glad to have had his company for over 35 years. If grief or pain is the price one pays to truly appreciate love and living—bring it on!
I am now optimistic—not that politicians are finally compromising, or humans will all get along, or the cure for climate change is at hand. But I am finally learning to look both ways, and gravitate toward the positive side of a situation, rather than the negative. Finally! Maybe my glass was half full all along!