This is the eve of the dawn of my favorite month, the month of December, which brings Christmas trees and decorations and wishes prayed on Santa's lap, and candy hopes and sugary dreams, and garlands of green that fill my home with the smell of pine and make me think I'm outdoors in a forest filled with chirping birds and garlands of dried cranberries dusted by the falling snow, and around every Spruce tree is the reflection of the shadown that splices through the glow of a fingernail moon.
I am wondering if you're wondering whether you should wait for it, you know, the punch line to the joke of my happiness. Or the kick to the gut. As it where, or is.
This is late hour of the unbelievable day, the day in which I faced my waking memory that a friend died last night, the day that I shook my head and sank my heart when I screamed at the realization that he did die, and that he died suddenly and all too young (46) from a heart attack while alone in his house. And this is the day that is two weeks after my Aunt died. And this is the day that is one and a half weeks after my dear friend lost her son.
And this is another day in the life of someone who is fighting for her life every day and every hour against a cancer that is, without mercy, stalking her.
And right now, one I love is hovering over her mother in ICU.
How does that register? The answer is that it does not.
But let me tell you this: If you love someone, if you ever have loved that someone, if you are about to or even if you realize you never will but you do care that much, do me a favor. Do yourself a favor. Hold on to your kiss a moment longer, hold on to a hug a moment longer, go ahead and pick up the tab that makes you lopsided in your balanced payout to your friends. Laugh at the jokes, shoulder the wrongs. In the end, it doesn't really matter. Forgive that one who offended you, let go of that grudge that does no good beyond you're being lonely at the top. Let go the weight, the issues, the positions.
I can promise you that the time you're not thinking about is a dangerous illusion of your wishful imagination.