Heaven's Vestibule

And so Thanksgiving weekend drew to a close, and the crowds went home, and we took a walk, and by  the time we got to Cojo, the sky was gold and everything glowed, and here you see the day culminating in another gaudy and glorious sunset. It almost looks fake.

One silhouette is Jeff, and a little further in the distance, Wendie, who walks along this stretch of beach six days a week, undoubtedly being thankful.I am thankful too, and that's an understatement.

Gratitude is my constant state of mind, Thanksgiving or not. I will never get used to the wonder of being here, never take it for granted that everything that happened brought me to the bright shore of this now. I am abundantly blessed, and I know it.

And yet the heartache in the background has been taking its toll.  I realize I have never explained all this in any coherent detail, but suffice it to say that after two months, the nightmare is ongoing, and I continue to receive grim updates and messages of despair, and lately threats of suicide. It has shaken me to the core.

Even at this moment I can feel my insides turning over, an engine idling high, constantly running. The whole thing is so sad, such an epic, tragic waste.I am trying to help, in the ways that I can. But it is overwhelming, and beyond anyone's control.

So I am also training myself to withdraw and to focus on my own life. I will go back there on Tuesday, but I've been here at home for nearly two weeks now. Thankfully home, utterly gratefully home.

Is it possible to be a good person without leaping into the flames? How much are we responsible for the happiness of others? I've always struggled with these kinds of questions.  The themes in my family were sacrifice, martyrdom, the thickness of blood...so hard to live up to, when yearning to live. I finally left.

Besides, I don't have any miracles in my pocket, and this is a situation that only a miracle could happily resolve. But I have been kind and supportive, and I am trying my best.Let the record state: I am trying my best.

So maybe I've earned my way into the mud room of heaven, its equivocal vestibule, a drafty sort of shelter. I will wait there by the dripping umbrellas and rubber boots. The saints in the parlor, still sighing, will be gathered over tea, the murmurs of their disappointment not quite music.

It's okay. I feel comfortable out here with the learners and try-ers.

And I am thankful.