My younger son Joel teaches at an inner city high school in Denver. It’s a tough job for not much money. Last weekend, he recounted a particularly difficult week in which nearly everything that could have gone wrong did.
“But it’s okay, Mom,” he told me. “I’ve even picked out what I’m going to wear. I’m really excited to start next week.”
(Below: my son Joel!)
“Why is that, honey?”
“Well, I know this coming week can’t possibly be any worse than this past one.”
We both laughed, and when I spoke to him yesterday, in fact, the following week had been better—not great, but better.
It was a good reminder for me. This past week was rough. My mom’s dementia has grown so much worse and a couple of painful conflicts in my extended family have continued to simmer.
Regardless of what’s going on in my life, however, the reality is that sometimes, issues feel quite manageable, and other times, they really don’t. Depression has dogged me for most of my life. Despite the meds and the years of therapy, my sadness can periodically weigh so heavily I feel as though I can barely breathe. Like right now.
But I know that at some point, this latest bout will lift. And hey— maybe it will even be next week. So, I’m heading to my closet to pick out some nifty outfits.