I have been feeling down, ever since that phone call last week. I just can't shake it even though I've gone back and re-read the helpful comments people left me half a dozen times. One of them even made me laugh out loud. (I don't use the acronym "LOL." I love words and acronyms annoy me. Except for the acronym: B.O. I think it's hysterical, for some immature reason.)
Anyway, because I have been blue I wrote a melancholy piece for my personal history group today--I'll include it at the end. Tonight, darling Sarah brought me a bag of homemade cookies and a sweet note. Part of it said, "...I know we don't get together much outside of writing group, I don't get out much it seems. Yet, I think of you as one of my dearest friends. Have a wonderful evening, Sarah B."
How sweet is that? I am so lucky to be included in the list of Sarah's friends. She is an amazing woman in more ways than I will ever be. I treasure her friendship.
Later, Phil and I watched "The Last Holiday." Truly a grade B movie but I am known for loving grade B movies and I did.
"You what?" Phil asked. "You loved that movie? That's why you are depressed!"
Another laugh out louder.
Here's today's personal history piece. Maybe now I can let the blues have a rest.
THE CHURCH KEY—written August 25, 2008--I was about seventeen when this occurred.
I put the tiny diary key in the old lock and gently turned it. When I heard a click, I pushed. The door opened a half-inch, looking over my shoulder I slipped inside and leaned against the door as it closed. I felt the tiny key with wonder. How had it worked?
The moonlight didn’t reach our side of the chapel. I slid into the pew we usually sat in. I came with questions but didn’t know what to ask. I could hear the dark. It was a different sound than any other darkness-sound I had ever heard.
In the summer the dark had a cricket sound, a dog-barking-far-off sound. In the fall the dark often had a dried-leaves-rustling sound from the Virginia Creeper that covered the side of our house. In the winter, when it was snowing, there was a depth-of-stillness sound. I had knelt on my bed dozens of times and watched the snow sifting down, sometimes drifting sideways under the street lamp. Sounds were muffled when it snowed. The dark had dozens of sounds but this was a new one for me—a dark-empty-chapel sound.
I sat. Alone. More alone than I ever had been before, except for maybe a time or two on the mountain, but then it was just a without-people-around type of alone. This time it was complete aloneness. The only sound I heard was the ticking of the pendulum clock.
I knew that the painting of Jesus was at the far end of the chapel. He was sitting on the edge of a well, with robust children gathered around. It didn’t matter where you were in the chapel; his happy eyes seemed to be looking at you. I knew his eyes were watching me, even in the dark. I knew He loved me but my loneliness overrode the comfort.
I wanted someone right there, someone who believed in me, even though I didn’t believe in myself. Someone who could have told me I was all right, that my life would be fine. I wanted someone to sit with me and listen to my fears and insecurities and hold my hand as I sat in the chapel, filled with the silence of the dark.
Perhaps everyone who wades through this long post has felt like this. Alone. Troubled. Sad. I hope tonight isn't one of those times, but if it is, I want you to know you are important and that you are loved.
And may you watch a grade B movie and laugh out loud.