Jesus, don't cry

For most of my life I have lived a very solitary existence surrounded by family and friends.



This will be the best part of my day: Ten a.m., standing at the trailhead, I tell Hanna to sit, unclip her leash, and then administer her favorite command: Go play. She takes off down the trail in front of me, then bounds with great determination into the scrubby sage beside the barbed wire fence--as if she has known all her life exactly when and where to orchestrate this departure. Suddenly, a loud sound emits from the construction equipment in the distance. She pauses, nervous, and scoots back to the trail, where she waits until I have caught up to and stepped in front of her. She has gotten so much braver over these past seven months, but she would still like me to lead the way when things become scary or unfamiliar. I oblige, boots striding out over the dirt beneath my feet--because I can do that again now, on my ankle's best days, striding--and make my way past the chicken coop. I turn to watch her staring up at a noisy crow perched accusingly on the telephone pole above her. She is trying to make sense of it. She notices me watching and charges to my side for praise and treats. We continue onward down the trail, her hop scotching through the sagebrush behind me and me looking forward, listening for the jangle of tags that lets me know she's not far from my side.


So many small holes on the bottom of my flip flop, the result of Wilson venting his frustrations. He resents very much that Hanna gets to go outside all the time, whenever she wants to, and he does not.


I am trying to make this a normal day, although it takes me a whole cup of coffee (more coffee than I usually drink) to feel like I can converse successfully--which is to say, convincingly--with all the people who come up to say hi to me at the coffee shop. They ask me how I am and I want to tell them, Today I am feeling really desperately hurt and sad, but people don't come to the coffee shop for heartbreak.

When I drive home for lunch is when it hits me again, weeping into my salad such that I can no longer eat. After last night things cannot be the same. 


I get myself back together again, hand over my mouth. When the computer screen turns black I am startled by the sadness in my own eyes looking back at me.