Its not any one thing that has brought me to my hypothetical knees, fantasizing of repeatedly uttering (a choice word) without any regard for my "oughtas".
Its not any one thing that makes me wonder again if I misplaced some crucial bulletin about a "life preparedness course" that would make me well educated and well equipped to be an infallable spinner of plates, or perpetual changer of hats.
Its not gone unmentioned that absorbing the concept of cancer in the family, never mind Death by Cancer has been a steady theme. The simultaneous, but unrelated truth of my husband erecting huge "Under Re-Construction" signs along what was once our shared faith roadway also dances in the periphery of my stage, waiting for a paradigm to nest in. Then along came the death-by-mental-illness of our young cousin. Then papa had a stroke. Cousin dropped of a sudden heart attack. Somewhere in there was death-of-an-auntie. Oh, and let's not forget Brian's uncle who has just died of liver cancer.
Then there were the horrer tales of the three year old girl, mistakenly run over by her own mother. The bike-riding fifth grader who was run over by an elderly lady in a car just up the road from my house. The three moms who miscarried their babies.
But then, June came again. And we wondered how it would feel.
But this June, I am busy spinning new plates, and nursing new wounds.
There will be more trips to that big hospital in the bright summer sun.
Some for my dad, some for my baby boy.
A thousand cuts.