‘ April 1st…Somehow, Much More Important Than ‘April Fool’s Day’…Although, Fools Abound ‘
04/01/12
Somehow, during another night lost to broken, pained, and intermittent sleep (not really sleep at all, but chilled and most uncomfortable little ‘naps’, and bathroom calls), the groaning, rusted wheel of the world ground on, cruel only in its indifference, and with the unwanted machinations of the earth and planets, slowly moved the calendar from March 31st to April 1st.
And it was to a ‘special’ new day that I did finally crawl unwillingly out of bed to the clanging of my C.N.A. out cleaning the kitchen, while my new clock began the annoyance of its hourly ‘bongs’, and fake electric chimes; funny that I thought I might just go back to sleep, though the lure of fresh, hot coffee, and the growing need to pee and have a cigarette drove me from an uncomfortable, and disarranged bed, to lumber, staggering out to the kitchen by way of the bathroom; Mary, my wonderful C.N.A seemed too chipper, and too bright for a morning hooded-over by passing clouds, and a kind of inevitable dreariness. The dog and I stared at each other, while Mary hummed a song, while making the house a place most likely lived in by humans (in less than a week, I can usually turn the house into a man pit?), and with a blessed cup of coffee sat and looked about the house, then at myself, and with cigarette in hand, abdicated the day away, intending to try for a nap, later, or, whether it would be easier to die.
And then I remembered that today is April 1st, though I’m too old and out of patience for stupid April Fool’s jokes, having—as my late mother would say, “ April Fool’s is done and past, and you’re the biggest fool at last !”
Now, whether I am—in fact—become the ‘biggest fool’ ( the matter having room for contention, as I have no doubt that there are—indeed—much bigger fools than I), I decided, for today, to let the matter rest, at least until my smashing headache goes away.
But, somewhere perhaps in the back of my mind’s memory, the arrival of the 1st seemed to herald much more profound notions. For April just recently arrived, incontestably means that Spring is here; having said goodbye to March, with all its blustering.
Oh, well I know, my dearest friends, that April means taxes, and the inevitable biting of nails, and fear of audit, or of greater fear of an insufficient refund…better that, than have to pay an unmoving, and baleful I.R.S., and of facing the age-old question: do I itemize or not? When last I was employed, believe me, the ‘EZ form’ caused sufficient ‘brain-pain’.
But as I sipped my coffee, smoking while I watched my house become a home again, and taking extra pain medications, prepared my pill box for the week, the ‘difference’ of the day became more clear.
As I sat there in week-old pajamas, as I simply did not care, and had no one to impress anyway, gradually, that ‘clean house’ smell began to prevail; and since I tend to opt for more floral scents in the diffusers, my thoughts began to drift far and wide, across the press of years, of time, and circumstance down into the Present…whoomph, but it was to a tolerable landing that I arrived; the house had not changed in form, neither had I changed, really, as if in my wanderings, I could somehow erase-away the years, the pounds ( ! ), and the pain.
Like a damaged hummingbird, still my thoughts went from bloom to bloom, and I thought of happy times with my late mother and father; the anticipation and productions made for Easter. Strange I paused to briefly think of my mom’s petunia beds, with its wild array of fragile, crepey color; each flower seemed to have a little, smiling face, as they bowed in dance to a suitor of the errant breeze.
How somehow breathtaking was a late-afternoon, April’s storm, when rays of light passed through the turmoiled atmosphere, giving a strange, unnatural orange tint to everything; how odd the grass looked in response, how odd the sky. And when the thunder came, as darkened clouds could still be seen far away, it was—for a solitary, eight-year old boy, a time of pure wonder, and to race home to hide, when—at last—the sky upended all its rain, while thunder shook the house.
For as long as I could remember, my mother was afraid of lightening, and thunder; sitting with arms folded, and eyes tightly shut, she waited for that clap of thunder, and startled when it sounded. Sometimes, she would retire to her bed, or stand silent in the hall, the middle of the house. This phobia was not helped when-once, some twenty feet away, while we are in the dining room discussing lunch, a bolt of purest lightning struck the chimney of the fireplace in our family room, and blew exploded bricks wide-through the backyard, while filing up the room with blue, electrical smoke. I thought it was neat, while my poor mother—had she been able—would have jumped through her skin.
Of course—today—I hurt; of course my breath is ragged as I’m tired; of course I can’t decide whether I am the least bit hungry, or just too nauseated to contemplate food or any kind.
However…little memories persist, like little, dotted ‘i’s. For brief moments they pass through my consciousness, much like the little wisps of clouds passing overhead.
And then, I ‘think’ I know why today is so important; it is because I am alive, having lasted yet another ruined night. I am here….now. I exist, and with my senses tuned to other things, I can—while waiting for the pain medications to work their will—cast my mind to almost anywhere I choose. My dog is sleeping on the rug beside me. And I can say—at 58—that I have so far lived as good a life as any. Sometimes, that realization is all we have. But in a quiet house, on days like this, that realization is sufficient, and, fine.
I think of you, my dearest friends, and hope that if you cannot be well, then—at least—you are feeling better. The month is new, and not as yet used up by want, or despairing. So far there is money, even if just a little. And think, for a moment, of all who genuinely love and care for you; think of how much you have to offer in a coin of kindness, and caring; I would ask you—please—to pause between whatever thoughts, or events distress you, to remember just how very special, and beautiful you are. And utterly unique.
You have a mind, a heart, a soul that can NEVER be catalogued by your illnesses; what makes the day special is that YOU are in it
And although you may have pain that makes you cry, you cry for others quite unknown to you, who suffer to. And a prayer said for one, is one said for all. Your deep compassion, concern, and support—despite your pain—makes you so special, too. A lot of ‘how’ you think, affects how you are.
Even if the respites from your pain last only pulse beats, yet, you can;
1) Still tell a spouse how much you love them; why you care, and why you’re most thankful.
2) Still hold a child long enough to cuddle them; brush away a tear, or lovingly, a stubborn lock of hair.
3) Still telephone a friend in gratitude.
4) Let a devoted pet know how very much you care.
5) Should you EVER see it, telephone to report abuse.
6) Take a quiet second to remember your always caring friends at MDJunction.
7) Be thankful that you are an American, with Rights and freedoms unheard of in half the world.
8) Give thanks to whatever Deity in which you believe for all your many blessings.
And never forget to take what chance you have to celebrate the wonder that is YOU.
I KNEW today was special; it just took some little time to figure out why.
Oh, my very dear, and dearest friends, and ever constant, loyal readers, please know that I think of you often, wishing for you days of lessened or of ‘no pain’; balmy, Springtime days that delight; pantries full, with no want or need, surrounded by those who truly love you for yourself; soothing evenings of friends and family; blissful nights free of distress or wracking dreams, sleep that is innocent and refreshing. And, all the joy and happiness that your kind hearts can hold. And more.
Please know I love you dearly,
‘Zahc/Charles'
