For Dawn, with love
There will be moments in this life that threaten to sink us. Dark and terrifying moments that seem to go on and on for days, for years. For too long no matter how long they last.
That darkness can come from simple words, all placed together and ordered in certain ways that change your life. They could be words like, “I don’t love you anymore” or “You have cancer” or “I need to tell you something.” And whoosh. Your feet will slip from under you and you will start falling, falling, falling down a long and dark tunnel.
These will be the things that come as a surprise, even if you suspect it or had an inkling. Like a bomb that drops from the clear blue sky, before you even know what’s happening. One moment everything is the beauty of a late autumn evening and the next is, well, it’s not. The next moment is a seemingly endless black tunnel that won’t let go.
It will seem like you’ve never hurt so much. Or for so long. That you surely can’t take another moment of it.
But it will stop. It always stops when you least expect it and have forgotten to be on the lookout for it. You’ll wake up and wonder how things had ever been so dark. They were. But they aren’t anymore. You’ll wake up and there’s a good chance that it’s gray out, or raining, or the sun will be behind a cloud, and it won’t be the most beautiful day that you’ve ever seen. Nope. It only works like that in schmaltzy movies. On your day, it will be an ordinary day and right there you’ll have it: the best gift you’ve ever been given.
I wish for you an ordinary day, devoid of dark and terrifying moments. A day of watching too much TV, riding motorcycles, eating Thai food, traveling on an airplane, losing your luggage, driving a car, getting your haircut, walking around the neighborhood, having a glass of wine with friends, reading books, washing dishes, making dinner. Laughing, giggling, and loving like you do it every day. I wish that your ordinary day becomes so ordinary that you get a little bored with how many of them you have in your life again.
You survived it. You made it through it. You’re right here. And the people who you love and who love you are right here, too.
We never know the moment that threatens to sink us. Yours never did sink you. You’re right here. And your ordinary day might not be here yet, but it’s coming. It’s on its way.