Most of us with more than a few years of life beneath our expanding waistlines have endured those surprises of the ill-received kind. Not the smiling-crowd-bursting-from-behind-doors-couches-and-stairwells-to-congratulate-the aging-process-or-marital-endurance kind. Nor the heart-shaped-balloons-with-streamers-and-colorful- cards-and-delectable-3-layer-cake-slices-beneath-a-chilly-scoop-of-vanilla-bean-ice-cream kind. More like the sudden-burning-of-bile-which-decides-to-crawl-up-the-throat-and-sear-the-tongue- thus-letting-one-know-that-jalapenos-and-onions-will-no-longer-be-on-the-menu kind. Or the bowel-busting-onset-of-dysentery-which-says, "Hi, there. I hopped a ride from the Wal-Mart restroom door handle yesterday. Decided to make myself comfortable for a few days while making YOU uncomfortable!" kind.
It's those blindsided moments I want to talk about.
If I can bring forth a bit of mental cohesion. Don't know if I can. Feeling rather blindsided at the moment.
For the first time in 24+ years, my husband is gainfully UNemployed. Our insurance coverage is set to expire on the 26th. That is also the date of our final paycheck. Job prospects in our area and beyond within his field of expertise continue to be few and far between. Notice the use of the word OUR? That's because WE are two made one under the marital covenant. The passing of decades together has melded us into a single entity in myriad ways. What hurts him hurts me and vice-versa. It's beyond the financials of the situation -- stressful enough though they are. The human spirit is at stake here. You ever seen a giant uprooted tree after a landslide or tornado? When you picture us, picture that tree.
Being uprooted happens to us all. Intellectually I know that and accept it. And my faith binds me to hope and acceptance and renewed mind each and every day. But the emotional component which comprises a significant aspect of my character? That part of Gloria needs a boost because it really does not know which way to turn as another week ends: another setting sun within a string of days our family has had free from the financial security of a sound job with decent medical coverage. Set free by the utterance of a few simple words from one man in charge of a specific department within a certain Nashville company. Simple words directed at my man in charge on a warm summer morning complete with bright sunshine and happy dogs. Simple words next conveyed to me in a brief cell phone conversation while that aforementioned summer sun slanted its way through my bedroom curtains and cast lacy leafy patterns on my bedspread and carpet. Simple words I then repeated at least a dozen times to a dozen different people while the ample sunshine of the encroaching day warmed the air and grew the trees and provided health-affirming Vitamin D to whomever it could. Simple words which now have me searching for safe neighborhoods with reasonable housing within the parameter of Savannah, Georgia of all places. Simple words sharpening my senses as I try to foresee any number of possible outcomes in our near future and plan for them all. Simple words that didn't allow for the high school graduation of my son or the early summer wedding of my first child next year. Simple words paying no nevermind to the needs of our mothers -- one a half hour away and the other recently moved in with us.
Simple words. Oh, the power of simple words. How they can deliver the promise of a thousand kisses or stings with their formation. How they hold the power to make or break within seconds. How they alternately soothe or savage the humanity within. Maybe that's why I prefer more interesting words of complex syllabic structure. Or "big words" as some of my friends refer to my vocabulary predilections.
The simple act of blindsiding. Sigh-h. It doesn't seem to matter if we've been thus attacked before. Our reason for relocating from Colorado to Tennessee came about in desperate response to a major blindside of tragic proportions. One that left my younger sister in a psychiatric hospital and her two children buried in a small town cemetery. And we survived it. And even thrived in the ten years spent rebuilding our emotional lives and attaching ourselves to a church, neighborhood and community at large. So, in theory, anything else making its way down the pike shouldn't have the power to painfully smack us upside our heads. Right? Wrong! We're tougher. More resilient. We understand the unexpected. We can endure excruciating loss. We know how to bend in strong wind. But bending in strong wind does NOT preclude snapping under the force of a tornado. Because we don't quit feeling. In fact, for me personally, I feel more deeply and strongly in all of my connections to friends and family. Even animals. In a way, it is this depth of feeling which has possibly lent power to this recent uprooting of self. Though I welcome change and know my husband and I can tackle whatever comes our way, it overwhelms me to again accept the loss of comfort and familiarity which must accompany said change.
But that's life, folks. It always has been from the dawning of time. Everything recorded and passed down, spoken and passed down, reflects the constancy of blindsiding and the resultant recovery. As I've heard many a time, it IS what it IS. And it could be much worse than it is.
I understand that, too.
