Sorrow

I remember when I found out you were sick. I was mad. I swore and professed the great injustice of it all.
You?  You laughed at me and said it could be beat; like any monster.
And you got up every single day with something good to say TO everyone, ABOUT everyone, FOR everyone.  YOU were the one who gave us the energy to face it. To face you; when you became less, smaller, weaker.

I recall not being able to come to see you; not wanting to because I couldn't do it without tears or something sad to say; something worse to feel.  And so we emailed; you and I. We face booked and there were a couple of calls.  You made me laugh.  You made it easy for me.  But I still cried.  I still was mad, jamming fists into swollen puffy eyes and feeling dry sobs in my throat as I hated what it was doing to you my friend.
THIS wasn't the man I swam with on those warm Saturday nights.  THIS wasn't the man who said I made the best margaritas... mixed drinks... whatever our poison was for the night and shook his glass so I would go get "just one more".

This wasn't the man and that was the ONLY man of you I wanted to see; to remember.

How selfish and childish I feel when I think I would like one more day, one more chance, one more...tomorrow; to say what I should have, wanted to, was afraid or too sad to, when it was painful and exhausting for you to sit up, to take a breath, to hold hands.

I cry for your lovely wife who has had to be stronger than I will ever be.  I worry for your little boy who will miss you; tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

I am glad you rest now; in peace.

God Bless you Griff.

_____________________________________-

I will be back in a few days. Be well. Be happy.

Heroezz

For some it is the military service; a brave bunch who have decided that to stand and fight and perhaps die so that I might type or say what I wish even though they've never met me.  For others, it is a doctor in a white coat that brings hope, therapy and a cure for a sickness. For me, yesterday, and for always, it is my husband. 

A hero.

He has been working like a dawg for many months.  I have missed my favorite playmate.  He asked that the yard be mowed (by our eager to drive son) but Boo was on his way to a friend's house so I thought I would do it.  I hoped aboard the tractor and began to sing my favorite songs over the roar of the engine. ( I sound just like them,  you know.  I think they would be impressed and want me in their bands... but I digress) I saw the little mound. Then I saw a hole near by and yet another still.  Curious. I don't remember there being holes there.  Could they be voles? Burrowing little rodents that devour our garden's bountiful harvest? Nay. Nay I say for these were the tunnels to a Hell so dark and treacherous that to type it causes my wrists to seize, my spine to tingle and my legs to tremble. Yellow jackets. Bees. 

INSIDE THE GRASS!  

Read that. over and over. Not a hanging ball of fury and malice. Not a hive of poison and hate. INSIDE the motherfiretrucking grass. They burrow! They sneak and wait to dispel such terror and destruction... on ....
someone let's sayyyyy riding a mower. Such a horror rose in me that it tasted like sick.  Tears instantly welled in my eyes.  The vision was instantaneous and I will share my misery with you:

  They would leave the confines of their secret yet diabolical nest of writhing future generations to attack me.  Upon said ambush, I would be sent to my knees begging God's assistance and grace but to no avail and would die there on my lawn; bloated and jellied from the unfathomable amount of poison that surged beneath my flesh. No sound. No cry.  Just death.  Then there would be the sound of their madibles pinching and grinding away my tender, unassuming human shell.

How's that for ya? You feelin my fear? Understanding my frenzy?

Enter one hero.

He arrived in his truck: a family vehicle.  To an outsider it would appear friendly, full of laughter and love, yet it was not.  It filled to the brim with weaponry; an arsenal of destruction.  Bring it little buzzers.  Challenge accepted. It began with spray.  Oh yes.  Four? Five cans?  He shot each hole with a can each until it bubbled up from the ground like tar: thick poisonous mud.  All of this he did while standing in his every day clothes.  My Clark Kent of the Etymological Eradication World.  Me? I was reduced to a quivering mass underneath a layer of "under armor" (no need to explain this really just enjoy the view as it unfolds in your mind) a puff filled snowsuit with hiking boots and four pairs of socks pulled up OVER the cuffs, a raincoat, a full-faced motorcycle helmet, around my throat was an afghan sized scarf (just beefing up the layers ya know) leather motorcycle gloves and "Ov-gloves" (which are made of Kevlar) did I mention I was on the porch well... inside the house? I was pressed against the glass though buddy just READY to whip it open if he needed me... because I sure as SHIT wasn't goin out there.  

But the hero stood; tall and unscathed.  He strode to the house with an aire of confidence, safety.  I clapped happily though I almost teetered over ~ stupid helmet and scarf were weighin me down.  I wanted to kiss him and throw my arms around him.  Again... full faced helmet would lead to a concussion and I resembled Buzz Eldridge when I moved... IF I moved. :)

This morning I had to leave for work early.  I did not visit the grave site.  My hero went out and dumped boiling soapy water on their carcasses and plans to repeat the process. I adore him and all he stands for: courage, strength, and he's pretty cute too. 

 I hear you are supposed to dig up the nest. Cheech dared me to.
Ahhh CRAP! I JUST took off all my gear.... maybe next time.  

I think one hero is enough at the moment.


I really hope you giggled with me over this.  It was nothing short of harrowing for me.  I know it's a silly irrational fear, but it is SO very real for me.  We all have our fears I suppose.  Well, until next time; bee safe.

;)