Skip to main content

For This I Should Be Grateful

This morning I am picking up a friend from a hospital, not just any hospital, a mental hospital, a place that strikes fear in my heart because I fear I may end up in such a place at times. I am picking her up not as any kind of noble gesture or because of close friendship, but out of a sense of duty. I'm not very happy about this trip for many reasons, the first is the inconvenience, since it is well out of my stomping grounds and known territories. Another is the fact that when I've attempted to make contact with this friend, she could not be bothered to contact me in return. I suspect that I am one of the last people she desired to contact and for that I am chagrined at the prospect of this trip.

However, in the spirit of love and tolerance, a spirit that I wish to be afforded to me when I act without conscience, I will follow through and be there at the ready.

I've learned that her family is turning their backs on her and she is currently without a place to stay. That's not quite true. She is staying with an acquaintance of hers for a few days until an apartment opens up for her. I guess I have to believe that for it is what she told me. Sadly I doubt this is the whole story. I am no longer her confidante, today I am a ride. For that I suppose I should be grateful.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Creep

  Have you ever used the internet to look up an old flame? How about an old arch-enemy? Did you have the intention to reconnect? Me neither.

I Remember...

I remember catching fireflies,  putting them in a jar, as a girl of five. I picked pears off a tree that overhung an alleyway on my route home from school, then enjoyed the forbidden fruit. .I had a golden cat who chased a gray mouse through our living room sending my mother, 3-year old sister, and me screaming atop the sofa and chairs. We lived in a farmhouse and I watched Romper Room. A daddy longlegs skittered across my dirty kid legs as I teeter-tottered on a broken kitchen chair back. I played grocery store and laid out a bedroll for group nap time in preschool. We lived in an apartment attached to a bakery. My maternal grandparents visited and a photo was snapped. Grandma held Dawn and Grandpa held me. I held Grandpa's chin. Walking through the back of the flour-caked kitchen, I saw scrumptious pastries and colorful toys stuck in the cupcakes with my hungry kids eyes. We lived in a two-story apartment building next door to a large farmer's field.  That field was my