Sunday, March 4, 2012

"Tomorrow is Another Day"

         My internal dialogue all day yesterday ran something like this, “You’re okay. This round of tests, and the additional bite out of our budget, is just one of life’s little obstacles. You’ve handled much worse with ease. You’re okay.”
         I had talked to my doctor, and her calm reassurances that micro calcifications usually end up being benign meant I slept soundly last night.
         Then today started with paying bills. No matter how much money we have coming in, the act of doling it right back out again kicks up my stress level a tad. I ran my calculations for the remainder of the month, decided to go for broke on our attempt to lower levels on a charge card, and freaked when I realized one bill edged higher than I had predicted. I didn’t realize it, but that little stress meter inside clicked up a notch as I ran the numbers.
         A quick run to the bank added to my anxiety, too. My son has always used a savings account. He figures it’s just a step or two harder to get to your money, and thus a little easier to keep money. However, recent events have made it necessary for him to add checking to his account. As we opened this account when my son was seven, both David and I can access it. I told my son that I’d run into the bank and make the changes because I already needed to make a deposit to my account. Of course, I forgot to bring the check I wanted to deposit!
            The littlest things, when you’re balancing too much, trigger tears. One more mishap that I didn’t expect, a chore that still needed to be done, and that forgotten check still sitting on the counter proved too much for me.
            As I dissolved into tears, I retreated to my bedroom because I don’t want Mom to see me cry. She often feels that her needs overburden us, so I try to protect her on the few times I feel life’s overwhelming me. David grabbed the vacuum cleaner to haul to our son’s house (we share a vacuum and all the lawn tools between the two houses) and dashed back to the bank to deposit the forgotten check. When he returned, he fixed everything. I don’t know how, but he’s able to spend a little time with me and point out how nothing’s really that bad. He reminded me of some of our other hurdles that we’ve survived.          
My little bout of tears today means I’ll be fine tomorrow because “after all . . . tomorrow is another day.” 

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

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