As George would say "Oh, boy." I will never forget attending his funeral in Tipton county not really knowing about who he was beyond my relationship with he and Sue. He died 7 years ago quite unexpectedly while watching the Daytona race from a hospital bed. Or maybe Memphis State basketball....my memory is fading. All of us work peeps went down there to pay our respects and were treated to a lovely tribute of his life which gave us more perspective on just exactly who George Jones was. We all knew he was a career military man and honey do for the Main Street tea room. He loved golf, his family and Jesus...not necessarily in that order. She was around my age when it happened and had a rough patch like we all do when trauma becomes too much. The stories I've heard from Sue range from cows in the pool to here there and yon. They had a good life.
I've had a good life as well, growing up as a country kid with a rebel side. I will pick my battles always, but when push comes to shove I am not a follower. I suppose the crisis came for me when I realized that at the age of 32 and began what shall be known forevermore as "therapy." At that point, I knew that something was terribly wrong with my life's mission to spew anger randomly as a passive aggressive act and otherwise put on a happy face and be Miss Perfect. Let's call that separation anxiety from the parental unit. My very first therapist was 8 months pregnant and when she saw me for the first time passed me on to her partner the tough one. Lucretia was just the earth mother that everybody needs to find their inner child and I got the bitch with her own issues. Two years later, we parted ways. We did art therapy the first day in an old church building in Memphis.
During that time I wandered and searched the great minds of psychotherapy like John Bradshaw and Scott Peck of "life is hard" fame. And once I realized that one basic truth? It set me free. There are no guarantees in this world no matter how much you tithe or how many points you earn or how good you are. Bad things happen all the time and the God I believe in doesn't cause them. Indeed, the spirits weep when people suffer. The birds are coming around more often now and every time I see them it reminds me of Daddy. New windows help with that, of course. I hear we have sixties coming soon so maybe there will be an asparagus crop.
I went to visit a dear friend at the sawmill today and found her being well cared for which made me happy. My belief that things are turning around may just become reality. If not, I'm close enough to retirement to hang on until Bernie gets us single payer healthcare.