I didn’t go. For multiple reasons. I struggled with it all day, honestly. Each rain drop that pelted against the window felt like another reason I needed to go.
But then I looked at Rocco practically sleep-walking through his one day off from work, trying to wrap-up a plumbing project so we could catch the train to Manhattan. And Paul decided to pummel my cervix with his decidedly pointy elbows in a friendly reminder that my ankles probably shouldn’t be bigger than my head. And I decided, chicken or not, to stay home, to let this loss go, to not feel guilty for still being here, but feel grateful instead.
I swear, for the first time in three solid days, the sky stopped leaking long enough for the sun to emerge for the briefest of moments.
Then the Nina Simone mix on Pandora served up this song.
And then I looked at my email and found a wealth of supportive comments there waiting. If I could buy each and every one of you a margarita, I totally would. Thank you.
Everything just might be OK, after all.