If I had Dr. Seuss’s mad poetic skills I would write you a limerick of some sort and share my feelings that way. Or maybe reenact a scene from a made for TV movie like Molly Shannon.
Instead, I’ll just check in and say that my head is pounding.
We have no news on a job for my husband, but we know when his job will be finished.
We know we are struggling with the shaky calm we call our feelings.
We know we have no control over what happens outside of our hearts.
And we know that we catch ourselves sighing heavily even in the middle of a happy seeming conversation.
So we wake up.
We eat and drink.
We kiss our kids.
We read encouraging scripture and try desperately to adhere it permanently to our joints.
We watch too much tv about things we don’t really care about and wonder why no one has called to cancel our cable yet.
We read our emails and wonder if we should bother replying. Will it really make a difference?
Can anybody hear me?
Is anybody out there?
Is there an end to this noose?
If I stand up will I fall?
Does it matter? Shouldn’t I try?
Sometimes the question can of worms just isn’t worth opening.