There has been quite a bit of stress in my life lately. There seems that the only news is bad news, or at least news that just creates more questions and tension. Compound this with some health , work , family , and financial issues that have all seem to have chosen for whatever the heck reason to pile up in one little six week time slot called the Summer of 2012. My life seems like one great big balloon that is on the verge of bursting, leaving fractured and ragged pieces flying across the universe, never to be repaired.
This stress has had a tendency to build until sometimes one feels that the only way out is through some sort of ESCAPE either physically or mentally. My legs won't run very far any more to make that a truly viable option, nor do I have a passport so flying to the other side of the world can't be considered (for the time being).
As the physical escape , therefore, seems to be out of the question , it just leaves the escape in terms of mental coping. Not an easy task. A learnable skill so I am told, but until this mastery of thought control occurs I have many , many , moments, minutes, hours, afternoons, evenings, nights, and days of total and ultimate hopeless and endless despair.
I was in the throes of this type of what can only be described as luscious wallowing of self torment and self pity while out at our pretty much semi isolated campsite yesterday. Only one other person had come with a boat during the morning and had long since left. There hadn't even been very many cars driving along the dust gravel road about a 1/2 mile away.
There was only myself and my husband sitting in the hot afternoon sun. All was quiet except the tinkle of fish hooks and fishing gear as my husband was fixing something on his reel . This sound was interspersed with my long sighs of worry and angst every few moments.
It wasn't a real happy time at all.
Pity parties rarely are.
After about an hour of this painful self inflected hell , I heard the sound of a vehicle drive along the road and, consequently, saw it drive into our little closed in area.
It was someone we knew! We hadn't seen him for at least two years. What were the chances that he would be driving around and choose to stop right at our campsite?
This lone visitor parked his vehicle and came sauntering, almost skipping over to the campsite. Smiling, sun hat gingerly upon his head, and a spark of mischief in his eyes, as he started to tease us about how lazy we were spending time fishing instead of working. After being offered a beer and a chair in the shade, the conversation turned to days gone by, fishing stories, and how much things have changed.
Then this visitor proclaimed with a grin and a slap on his knee, " You know life is too short to be unhappy. It's good that you guys are taking every weekend off to go fishing. You just never know what is going to happen around the corner. That's what we should all do--just be happy and forget about the other stuff."
He left soon after while proclaiming the next time he dropped in he would want some fish on the fire and a cup of coffee.
I thought about him as I watched the dust from his vehicle fly up on the gravel road as he headed to his empty home about 20 miles away. I thought about what he had said. The stuff about being happy and that life is too short.
I also thought about his wife who is now lying continually in a nursing home unable to move, walk, or talk clearly due to a debilitating illness which she has suffered with for the last 30 years. Our visitor never once complained that his life has been a series of continual losses of opportunities and dreams as he cared for and watched over his wife as her disease slowly destroys her mind and body. When he did mention her he merely said that she was still in good spirits.
Would one say he was an angel? Perhaps no. But I suspect he was sent by One.
Our visitor's jaw would fall open in astonishment and surprise if ever I would tell him so. He'd pro bably say something like, "An angel? If I had been sent by an angel, it should have sent me a fishing rod too."
This stress has had a tendency to build until sometimes one feels that the only way out is through some sort of ESCAPE either physically or mentally. My legs won't run very far any more to make that a truly viable option, nor do I have a passport so flying to the other side of the world can't be considered (for the time being).
As the physical escape , therefore, seems to be out of the question , it just leaves the escape in terms of mental coping. Not an easy task. A learnable skill so I am told, but until this mastery of thought control occurs I have many , many , moments, minutes, hours, afternoons, evenings, nights, and days of total and ultimate hopeless and endless despair.
I was in the throes of this type of what can only be described as luscious wallowing of self torment and self pity while out at our pretty much semi isolated campsite yesterday. Only one other person had come with a boat during the morning and had long since left. There hadn't even been very many cars driving along the dust gravel road about a 1/2 mile away.
There was only myself and my husband sitting in the hot afternoon sun. All was quiet except the tinkle of fish hooks and fishing gear as my husband was fixing something on his reel . This sound was interspersed with my long sighs of worry and angst every few moments.
It wasn't a real happy time at all.
Pity parties rarely are.
After about an hour of this painful self inflected hell , I heard the sound of a vehicle drive along the road and, consequently, saw it drive into our little closed in area.
It was someone we knew! We hadn't seen him for at least two years. What were the chances that he would be driving around and choose to stop right at our campsite?
This lone visitor parked his vehicle and came sauntering, almost skipping over to the campsite. Smiling, sun hat gingerly upon his head, and a spark of mischief in his eyes, as he started to tease us about how lazy we were spending time fishing instead of working. After being offered a beer and a chair in the shade, the conversation turned to days gone by, fishing stories, and how much things have changed.
Then this visitor proclaimed with a grin and a slap on his knee, " You know life is too short to be unhappy. It's good that you guys are taking every weekend off to go fishing. You just never know what is going to happen around the corner. That's what we should all do--just be happy and forget about the other stuff."
He left soon after while proclaiming the next time he dropped in he would want some fish on the fire and a cup of coffee.
I thought about him as I watched the dust from his vehicle fly up on the gravel road as he headed to his empty home about 20 miles away. I thought about what he had said. The stuff about being happy and that life is too short.
I also thought about his wife who is now lying continually in a nursing home unable to move, walk, or talk clearly due to a debilitating illness which she has suffered with for the last 30 years. Our visitor never once complained that his life has been a series of continual losses of opportunities and dreams as he cared for and watched over his wife as her disease slowly destroys her mind and body. When he did mention her he merely said that she was still in good spirits.
Would one say he was an angel? Perhaps no. But I suspect he was sent by One.
Our visitor's jaw would fall open in astonishment and surprise if ever I would tell him so. He'd pro bably say something like, "An angel? If I had been sent by an angel, it should have sent me a fishing rod too."
No comments:
Post a Comment