Last night my mother heard my voice. Well, my lack of voice. She began to cry. I know how she feels. It is just as difficult for me to be here and think of all of the things that could go wrong with the people I care about. Don’t ever doubt that. I just have to keep reminding myself things happen no matter what. Living is what we attempt in the meantime.
This week has been especially trying due to my nagging illness. Living in Santo Spirito and not my old haunt of Santa Croce is taking much more getting used to than I thought it would. Case in point, there is a homeless man here who hates me. He hates me because I wear red, because I don’t give him cigarettes, because I’m not Italian. I don’t know, maybe it is just me? But every time I see him and hear the verbal abuse in my direction, the difference between now and then is worse than a slap.
My friends here have told me to not take the man personally. He is locked into some mental hell of witnessing friends die. It is rumored that it is an extended drug induced hallucination that he just doesn’t have the facilities to crawl out of anymore. Whatever the reason, at night when I can’t sleep, I occasionally hear him still yelling at some other person and the tears come. Whether I’m crying for him or for me or for all of us, who knows and it doesn’t matter. It is just that it has been one of those weeks. And I want to be able to push us all back into the lighter path. You know what I mean?
For me that is already happening. My voice is on the rebound. The doctor agreed but put me on medication anyway. I feel energetic. I’m communicating with the people I need to and I’m embracing a new era of gentleness. We all deserve a soft touch sometimes and now is the time. Healing. Thanks Lorelei for the reminder. And thanks to all of you for caring. Tender will be the night, the day, the weekend. No more tears for now.