Everything was wrong. Everything I’d done to make it right had gone wrong. The details don’t matter. But I was broken by the weight of the total tonnage of wrongness I carried. Sucked into the mire of wrongness. Slammed upside the head by wrongness.
You get it: you’ve been there. Every single one of you. Once, or many times.
And there’s always one time that’s a little different. When life isn’t just hard, when it’s impossible to conceive a positive outcome. When you believe down to the bone you’re done.
Have you been behind the wheel, weeping as you speed down the freeway at more miles per hour than the law will allow? What have you done when the feeling, all the feelings, take over? You know better, but they’re in charge, now. You’re focused on the road, but it’s a lack of focus, too, a kind of systemic myopia that allows you to feel only the physical mental emotional spiritual pain. You can see only the road right in front of you, the concrete wall next to you, too close as you round the curve, and your split-second thought is turn into it now, and just before the hands guide the wheel into the wall, you glance in the rear view mirror for the first time in miles.
And your angel smiles at you, a big, unconditional, pink-tongued smile, an angel that looks just like a black Norwegian Elkhound-Corgi who (because she’s traveled this road with you many times before) knows she’ll be home very soon, playing in the yard while you fix dinner.
She reminds you to stay. Stay in the moment, stay on the earth, stay with her until this awful feeling passes. It will, she promises, sitting straight up and cocking her head ever so slightly, I love you, let’s go home and have a treat and curl up and watch TV, okay? Okay? Okay?
Okay. You reset your course, and drive yourself and your angel home. Safe.
And now, even when she’s not there, you remember.
She’ll always be there.