I went for my routine annual mammogram one month ago today. It seems like it's been eons ago, but that's it, just one month. Being a generally oblivious person, I went, I did it, I forgot about it. Just another day.
So, there's some sadness today, just nostalgia for that other life, the oblivious one. Will I spend the rest of my life remembering dates, marking the milestones? With these "life-changing" experiences--you know, the ones that are supposed to "make us stronger,"--I don't think you ever forget, even if you wanted to.
Mentally I mark my mom's accident, my father's death, my Loki-dog's death, my neck surgery, with thought-memorials to innocence gone, illusions dashed, grief recalled. But past experiences tell me with certainty that the immediacy of the shock, pain and yes, even horror, fades or just mellows with time.
"Why can't things just stay the same?" daughter Juli once cried to me. "Because nothing stays the same," said practical, suck-it-up Mom. Ooooh, I could just slap myself for my aged arrogance. As if I were immune to further changes myself.
The only antidote to sadness I've ever found that works for me is movement. Find a new place, go somewhere different, start a new project. Throw out the old, get on with the new. It's time to get this particular adventure on the road.
And so, time to make sandwiches, pack the ice chest and dog accouterments, grab a bag and head for my destiny. Well, head for Virginia anyway.
I figure I'll be smiling again by the time we hit the state line.
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