Toxic Snot
I don’t get sick very often these days, but boy-howdy, do I have a whopper of a cold at the moment. It is no surprise, however. When I got the call from my son last week that he was sick, and the baby was sick, and mama and baba were exhausted, I rushed to help. If they told me I had to lick that baby all over in order to make him feel better, I would have, without blinking an eye. I didn’t, of course, but he took care of sharing the germs with me anyway. I think there wasn’t a toy there that didn’t go in his mouth to get the full drooling treatment, before he very solemnly handed them to me…as a precious gift…and I accepted every one.
There are positives about this cold, though. My son and grandson are feeling much better (which lets me know this isn’t a long-lasting illness). It’s not Covid I’m finally making a dent my ridiculously large stash of tissues from Costco. I don’t have to do sit-ups because (don’t you know), coughing is a great ab workout. I’m working on strengthening all of my core muscles when I sneeze – tightening them so I don’t explode from every orifice. I’m personally responsible for Netflix’s viewership increase, and am up on all the latest reality TV shows. See? There’s a positive side to everything.
We are also heading toward my birthday this weekend, and the death of my old partner. I’m feeling some type of way about it all. (That has got to be my favorite take-away line from reality TV ever…talk about a ridiculous phrase that means nothing but sounds like you’re saying something.)
My birthdays as a child were sweet, with home-made angel food cake and sticky white frosting and little silver candy balls, and pralines and cream ice cream. I feel like they were joyful days, not overdone, or over the top, but fun, wholesome days. Then for several years, they were just another day of work, of kids, of bills, of dishes, of life. Then two years ago, he died.
Speaking with my therapist about it, and about the pain that he caused, the joy that he brought, the good, bad, ugly, deceptive, icky things that I discovered about him after his death, she gave me a great suggestion to hasten my healing.
She suggested I go to the store and buy the most beautiful wrapping supplies I can find. Then I am to come home, fold up one of his death certificates and wrap it in the finery. First thing on my birthday morning, I will open it, and be grateful for the greatest gift of all – that he’s gone, and that I’m alive, relatively unscathed, with the rest of my life ahead of me, full of joy, excitement and great promise. As a matter of fact – I can’t think of a better way to celebrate this new year.
