It’s gonna be a good year

It was new year’s day, 2010, when my brother picked up a penny as we were heading to the BART station and said, ”Hey, a penny, it’s gonna be a good year.” “Yes it is,” I said. I felt it in my heart. One month later, I got the news that no one expects to hear. The news that sent me spiraling into a dark abyss of fear and uncertainty.

You know it’s not a good sign when the receptionist asks, “Is someone going to accompany you to the appointment?” It was a rainy day, closing time. We waited for about an hour in the office as the doctor spoke with everyone else, even though I had been called back before the other patients. I could hear him through the walls laughing and joking with the other patients just minutes before he said, “it’s bad.”

When I got home, dragging the dark, heavy diagnosis in my soul, I sat down hard on the couch, fixing my stunned gaze on the fire place, and there, I saw it, him, the grim reaper. I didn’t see him like I could see you, I felt it. It was like a palatable presence that could only be sensed. But this entity was neither sinister nor scary. It was somber yes, but full of love. “I know you.” I said in my mind. “Yes. We have met before.*” He said. The entity continued to convey that he did not come to take my life but to give it back, to wake me up. He was my friend.

Yes, 2010 was a good year, the year that has brought me to this place, here with you.

I’m not saying that these years have not been difficult. God knows it’s been excruciating. There were times I didn’t know if I was going to live. And sometimes I wanted to give up and die. It seemed easier. But I have to believe that everything happens for good. I mean, I could choose to dwell on all the negative sides of this experience. I think that whatever I set my heart on to believe will become my reality. Therefore, I choose to believe that all things happen for the good of everyone involved. And so it is.

Hope.

Until next time.

Love,

Lydia

*That’s another story. I lost my first husband. As a way to remove the horrors of that experience from me, I wrote about it. And, at the pinnacle of all the chaos, that was the first time I met my friend. The story is rough, but complete. It’s called, To Hell With You. Maybe I’ll post it here, some day, if you are interested.