On July 4th, I got a call.
Someone you love is hurt. Someone you love needs help. Someone you love is in trouble.
At first, I sat on my hands and did all of the things my rational side wanted to do. I made a mental list and compiled the slender facts I had. I plastered on my, “It’s the FOURTH OF JULY, Y’ALL!” smile and put the dogs on the grill. Because, in a crisis, there are the immediate reactors and there are the people who put hot dogs on the grill and pretend that life is fair and that we have a smidgeon of control over outcome.
Then, the big wave hit and my heavy feet climbed my steps and I put myself to bed. Because, in a crisis there are the people who can’t sleep and there are the people who must.
In the morning, this morning, I woke up and had to buy a ticket. It wasn’t a, “let me check on a, b and c.” It was, I need to buy a damn ticket right now. And, bless my good credit and my plastic, I could and I did.
And now, I am flying into a war zone of family feuds and hurt feelings and grief and confusion and feelings of responsibility that are being juggled and tossed like an ill-trained circus act. The one where everyone who lived in the same home gets in the same room and we all fall into the safety net because no one ever learned how to catch one another.
So, I’m going to my birth “home”. And, I have a week to sit by bedsides and make miracles with my two hands that never even could figure out how to make a penny disappear.
And, I think, that having a birthday while I’m there will be a great honor. To accept that with age comes big life and growth whether you want to grow or not and forgiveness whether you have it in you or not and hope, because, what else do we have?
Until I return to my heart home, shooting through the star-riddled sky on a metal tube serving cocktails, with all of my humor in my carry-on and some new understanding and a little more age and hopefully, all that fine hope in my checked luggage, think a little thought and laugh a lot of laughs for me.