Yesterday I was humbled to witness the sorrow and the mourning and celebration of a family, and we were all dwarfed with the hugeness of Life and Death.
And as I got ready in the morning, trying to wrap a dizzy head around this life and living before you can't anymore and all of the things that are really important and how this train doesn't stop and does everyone know I Love them [no. phone call to make.] and just overwhelmed with Love for my beautiful, radiant mom, I caught myself tripping over the usual worries of the morning- must moisturize forehead to discourage wrinkles. Where are my tights? I should have bought cream yesterday. Here are those five pounds, five pounds, five pounds. Where are my glasses? Where is my phone? Where is my mind? Five pounds, five pounds.... Call him, text her, hurry up you are going to be late. And with every thought that snuck its way into my head because it's the track that's always in my head, it was like I pulled an arrow out and tried to shoot it down on the side of the road. "YOU. You are not worth the seconds of thought, now go away, along with the rainy slush on the city streets." It was almost humorous to me, how, without thinking, these useless worries sneak into our heads, even while getting ready to say Good-bye. There must be a tally somewhere in the clouds that keeps track of our poorly spent seconds, pray-God - the time goes to someone else more worthy. How by worrying can we add a single second to our lives?
And we worry about the job we have and all of the jobs we don't have, we worry about our cars and careers and titles and getting ahead and what to have for dinner [will there be any dinner], being in fashion [rebelling against fashion], next haircut, next date, next haircut before next date if we can time it just- so. We collect and save and cling to all of these things we call our own, we fold them and tidy them and ward off the wrinkles. We put them in boxes and drawers and put walls around our things to say, "you have gone far enough." It is as if we can take it with us in the end, it is as if we believe we will be here long, in this way, in our quiet cozy houses, with comfortable couches matching curtains and hanging bows- we act as if the risk and weight of ending the day in furry and worry is a small gamble.
We catch ourselves thinking this way and acting this way and hoarding our stuff and our titles and accomplishments, but yesterday I sat and watched as a man stood with his two children with his hand on a box at the altar where, 20 years ago, he married the woman who isn't here anymore, and he just said [it's still ringing in my ear, the way he said it], "I love you, I love you, I love you. I will always. You brought Love into my life, I spent the happiest days of my life with you." And you knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was hers and she was his and they were each others and THAT, that, is something that doesn't leave you.