One Hour at a Time

Something happened. She wasn't quite sure what exactly or when it all began but something had changed. On silent padded paws, winter had broken into her sleep in the middle of the night and stolen her voice. And without a voice, she had no words. And without words, well, I don't have to tell you the horrors of a wordless world, do I?

But still, when did it begin? Bit by bit, piece by piece (no, that's too cliche... try again...) But still when did it all begin? October. Yes, it had to have begun way back then when the leaves had turned to amber and the evening sky to velvety shades of fuschia, purple and midnight blue. October had become the month of death since her mother passed away nine years ago. And yet every October, she was surprised when the sullenness overtook her. (Too dramatic? But it's true... stick to the truth).

Then came November, the month that's all about family. (Family.) What is family anyway? Biology that binds? Does it really? Blood is thicker then water. She knows many who would beg to differ.

December. More cheerful holidays that drive suicide ratings higher then any other month of the year. (Don't worry, there's no suicidal tendencies here). But December is more for her then holidays and forced cheer. It's the month they shared a birthday, she and her mom. December 28th. She remembers a time when she hated that fact, when she selfishly wished she had the day all to herself. But she was a little girl then and didn't really know what she was wishing for. Until now. Now that her birthday cakes just say Happy Birthday with her single name in curly blue cursive. Plenty of room for all the words to spread out.

January. Can anything be more depressing then the world growing older during a time of the world's recession? 10% of Americans are jobless and losing their homes. She could be one of those. Every day debt collectors calling asking for payment from money she does not have. Last year she worked three jobs, sometimes even more, to make ends meet. This year she lost 2/3 of those jobs and a perspective one. Two losses even happened on the same day. That day was extra special. (Too sarcastic? Too angry?) But it was still summer then and the summer sun had a way of transposing her to the Land of the Lotus Eaters and maybe there was no need to worry. Things work out. They always do. Now she's not so sure.

But then, as it always happens, October after October, and way leads unto way, worry, fear, and depression all move in, unpack and settle in for the long barren winter to begin. She remembers now, yes, that's when it all began, as it always does, in October when at first it's too subtle to notice and she still has some fight in her. Like the trees holding onto their chlorophyll before they succumb and become naked under winter's merciless wind.

As usual, it's so insignificant at first, just a cell here, a membrane there. A hair follicle. A toenail clipping. And then scrapings of flesh, pieces of flesh, chunks. And then it preys on her soul, her reason, her purpose, her goals, dreams. Until one day she looks in the mirror and notices she has simply vanished. She's become a missing person. M.I.A. (Be careful, don't get too melodramatic).

But wait. Listen. Shhhh. Somewhere deep inside of her, rattling around in her ribcage a songbird sings. You can still hear it if you try. There. Just beyond the heartbeat. Yes, the heart still beats. And just beyond it, listen. Do you hear it? The tiny woodland bird that will come home soon to nest in the early frosty spring. He still sings in her heart. But there is a disconnect. A wire left dangling from a fierce and mighty winter storm.

She has a friend, many friends, but this one friend said something that stuck, something that beckoned the sinews to work overtime. She said, One Hour at a Time.

One Hour at a Time. She can do that. One Hour at a Time. February's almost done. March is long and scary. But remember. One Hour at at Time. And then April. April with crocuses and tulips and life prevails once again, pushing its way through the defrosting ground. Buds on trees appear, birds come home to nest, bees buzz. Even the insects are missed and loved because on their dusty translucent wings comes her friend and saviour. Spring. (Corny, yes but all of it true).

Living a Life with S.A.D.

A Drive by Shooting