July 8

Posted on Tuesday 8 July 2008

I won’t forget the phone call this morning. I will hear the words again and again for many years to come. I won’t forget feeling how I discovered a new definition of betrayal–at least in my reality. I won’t forget trying to keep myself together as I took myself to Starbucks more for the distraction than the coffee.

I won’t forget this day, for ever and ever. But as with most turning-point, life-altering moments, everyday life goes on in spite of one’s inner shock and pain. Pretty soon, time is no longer suspended and it is later that afternoon. The work is done and the rain isn’t happening and a run for miles and miles is finally possible.

Life’s chores still beckon. Measure the detergent, shove in the quarters, meet a friend for a drink while the double rinse cycle times out. Talk, don’t force the laughter, make sure not to cry.

Two texts come in from my dance partner. I hardly feel like dancing.

The lawyer calls, too, on this day of all days that I don’t want to talk to anyone except those closest to me. But I answer his call, because on a day I will never forget, the day is almost over, and the surreal notion of his actually contacting me on this very day shakes me out of my darkness. On the day I wanted to run screaming to anyplace on the planet that would allow me to escape myself, I listen and smile as he reads sections of his soon-to-be heard brief, “Because as a writer, I thought you’d appreciate the argument.” And he is right, on this God-awful day.

The details of this day, the reasons why, the lessons learned–each will stay with me forever, even as I leave them unwritten. Tomorrow will be better. Tonight already is. The truth is, I am incredibly lucky and fortunate. I can move on.

But I will never forget the day my beach party ended and my grown-up life on the ocean hurtled forward.

Never. Ever.

19 Comments for 'July 8'

  1.  
    July 9, 2008 | 3:07 am
     

    Deep ((Hugs)

  2.  
    Julie
    July 9, 2008 | 9:50 am
     

    Oh, RG. I wish I could give you a big hug, too.

  3.  
    Mike
    July 9, 2008 | 11:15 am
     

    RG, hope everything works out OK for you – you are in my thoughts.

  4.  
    July 9, 2008 | 11:28 am
     

    Warm thoughts, a bug hug and virtual gluten free treats your way. I hope today dawned better for you.

  5.  
    k
    July 9, 2008 | 1:37 pm
     

    I hope you’re ok

  6.  
    July 9, 2008 | 2:26 pm
     

    Thinking of you!

  7.  
    Shannon
    July 9, 2008 | 3:53 pm
     

    Positive thoughts and heartfelt prayers from me to you. Hope you’re ok.

  8.  
    July 9, 2008 | 5:21 pm
     

    Sorry to hear it, RG.

    This, too, shall pass.

  9.  
    July 9, 2008 | 8:28 pm
     

    Oh dear. This makes me want to drink. Care to join? ๐Ÿ™‚

  10.  
    L
    July 9, 2008 | 9:56 pm
     

    RG:

    Once not too long ago, I printed this paragraph and then taped it to my computer screen at work and at home. It seemed to give direction on how I’d get through tough times:

    Doubt thou the stars are fire,
    Doubt that the sun doth move,
    Doubt truth to be a liar,
    But never doubt I love.
    (Hamlet, Act 2; Scene 2)

    Whenever something seems to crush my heart or ideas, I remember the words “never doubt I love” … because having the ability to love and be curious, to keep embracing life, well it is a trait to be proud of.

    I think you’ve that ability.

    Take care,

    L.

  11.  
    Rose Royce
    July 10, 2008 | 12:17 am
     

    I never enjoy those moments of my life where reality walks up and rips my heart out and somehow I keep walking and talking; the living dead inside. Down the road I look at those moments, my life memories and sometimes cringe at that person who was me. In different settings I can look back and laugh because where I am isn’t even the same person and that’s ok too. I also know I’m going to do other things and that cringe worthy past melts some compassion, because I’m human. Keep writing, if only for yourself, make it fiction so you don’t have to worry about someone finding it and thinking, omg – she did what! Shift that pain and emotion into crazy dialog and look at it as an exercise in life. And remember, your little dog loves you.

  12.  
    July 10, 2008 | 12:33 am
     

    Sounds like a painful day. I wanted to drop a supportive comment and was at a loss for words. But then Rose Royce summed it all up.

  13.  
    catherine
    July 10, 2008 | 1:06 am
     

    RG, i hope things work out and that you can smile again soon. Hugs!

  14.  
    July 10, 2008 | 11:59 am
     

    Finally, today dawned and I felt okay. The worst is most definitely over. I have my friends, my family, my health, and a firm resolve to move forward. I have felt each and every hug and hold dear all the supportive thoughts. Many thanks to the best readers a gal could have. And now, it’s time to write more stories.

  15.  
    July 10, 2008 | 3:22 pm
     

    Sorry, RG. I hope that this comes in handy:
    http://mfrost.typepad.com/.shared/image.html?/photos/uncategorized/2008/06/29/laughingdog.jpg
    (entirely work safe)

  16.  
    July 10, 2008 | 3:31 pm
     

    xoxox

    just because, sugar! ๐Ÿ˜‰

  17.  
    Lisa
    July 11, 2008 | 1:41 pm
     

    I hope things pick up for you!

  18.  
    Connie
    July 14, 2008 | 3:48 am
     

    My heart breaks for you. I have a new saying in my life- that a co-worker going through chmo said–” put on your big girl panties and deal with it”. I don’t argue with people that had doublt masectomies.

  19.  
    Kris
    July 14, 2008 | 8:38 am
     

    Oh, honey. {{{{{{RG}}}}}}

Leave a comment

(required)

(required)


Information for comment users
Line and paragraph breaks are implemented automatically. Your e-mail address is never displayed. Please consider what you're posting.

Use the buttons below to customise your comment.


RSS feed for comments on this post | TrackBack URI