ROUTE 46 - WEEKDAY - EASTBOUND

“Donna, why aren’t you blogging anymore?”

“Donna, you need to blog again!”

“Donna, come on…I miss reading all those whacky things you write about!”

I wish I could say I missed memorializing all those moments of bedlam that best depict my days…

but I don’t.

Don’t get me wrong, I do miss the journaling relief of blogging.

The emotionally purifying, pore cleansing, colonoscopy act of releasing all matter into the universe.

The blank computer screen, slowly filling up with guffaws and good riddance.

Laughter and load lightening.

I miss the moment of written conception.

Of completion.

And though these past few months have been blessed with satire, not always intentional mind you;

they have also been filled with loss.

Death has interrupted lives too young.

One lionhearted, one kindhearted; both courageously said goodbyes on their own terms,

in their own way.

And nestled in their passing was the realization that when it comes to loved ones,

enough will never be enough.

All the melodic metaphors that man concocts to make loss more palatable are unfulfilling.

All the rhyming rhetoric about religion and righteousness are emphatically earnest,

but equally exasperating.

I needed an answer...and it appeared...
Be thankful?
Really, I’ll say it again, “BE….THANKFUL!”
Not because it makes sense or makes you feel better.
And surely not because it will make the nausea subside…No So Much.
Rather, because it is the duct tape to repair the heartbreak.
The Super-glue to piece the rest of life together.

Be thankful.
For in momentarily glancing beyond the insanity and destruction; you see the glory of humanity and the impervious nature of determination.
Be thankful.
Because woven in the shroud of hurt, are the threads of triumph.
A few weeks ago, I was walking Zipporah, and grieving.
My Ipod, Elvis, and I harmonizing to How Great Thou Art.
Blocks passed and if not for a traffic jam, I would have never realized I had an audience.
Or a congregation of one.
Dressed in a housekeeper’s apron,an elderly woman had been following me;
innocently heading to her bus stop.
My embarrassment over my public display of affliction, and a horrific singing voice oozed from my pores.
“Sister,” she began, “you sing it out and in no time you will find your answer.
And then you sing the songs of thanks.”
“You sure about that ma’ am?” I doubted.
“You be thankful,” she instructed, as her city bus snuggled up to the curb,
” and it will blow away the ache!”
Be Thankful!

Happy Thanksgiving!