Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy – We cry for lots of reasons: sadness, pain, fear . . . and happiness. When was the last time you shed tears of joy?
Tears of joy? Yes, there are such things.
Because when all was lost, we had no water and I thought, finally, our bad luck demons had taken the field and we were beaten, I heard the distant bugles of the cavalry. They came — friends from far and wide — from cyberspace and land, they sent us funds so we could repair our well. And keep our home.
In its own way, our well crisis was more terrifying than having my heart remodeled or losing both breasts to cancer. In those cases, I only had to fend off the Big Guy with the Scythe. I could put myself in the hands of doctors and hope I’d chosen them well and they would take me through the dark tunnel.
But with the well — there was no doctor. No facility to depend on. I had to find a way through when I could see no path, no road, no light. And then, not to put too fine a point on it, there was light. Like the line of Pilgrims in Disney’s Fantasia, they appeared, down from a dark mountain bearing torches. And checks. We survived and I cried. Garry cried. I still cry when I think about it because I never imagined anyone really cared what happened to us.
I have to admit I’ve cried more sad tears than happy ones. The past 15 years have been one thing after another. I’ve been in and out of hospitals, had more surgery than I can remember, which may be a good thing.
Not remembering, that is. Not the actual surgeries except that they kept me alive so maybe they were good, in their own way. Just not a whole lot of fun.
A period riddled with crises. Financial, medical, personal. I don’t remember the sequence of a particular day, not even yesterday. Or this morning. It’s after two in the afternoon. I’m still answering email and trying to get this post written.
See? I’m tearing up right now?
Don’t worry about me. I cry over reruns of Lassie and keep a box of tissues handy. I seem to have a bottomless well of tears waiting to be shed.