Good Days & Bad Days Look Like

 

losing through you what seemed myself, I find
selves unimaginably mine; beyond
sorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears

yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:
yours is the darkness of my soul’s return
–you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars”

- E. E. Cummings

 

Good days look like waking at 5 and hitting the mat and finishing in time to notice the mountains awash in a pink glow of sunrise. Then quietly padding downstairs to medicate Morty, make my latte and knock out a few months of diary restoration before doing a job search.  Good days look like relief when each missing photo is restored to a diary entry, and long ago memories revisited and also gratitude for the friendships made in those early days of motherhood, and for the opportunities and for the abundance of gifts received from a simple diary.  Good days is the realization that it was like a mother uprising and the way we all put ourselves out there, connecting to each other and the people who inspired us and how we made good shit happen.  Good days look like staring at my seedlings which pings the gratitude button in my heart. Good days look like a neighbor messaging me the coordinates to a patch of wild mint that she found while I make a note of the places I've found garlic mustard to forage. Good days look like gratitude for the nearby farm, and the mini farm growing on my deck. Good days look like gratitude for the gift of friendship, the messages, the surprises that arrive in mail, and how well my friends know me and the many ways they make me feel loved. Good days look like my son's joy for gaming with friends, and my relief that he at least has that during this horrific pandemic. Good days look like making fairy houses in the forest for the neighborhood kids to find while my son fishes, and listening to the song of a nearby wood thrush. Good days look like the scents of the understory that transports me back to moments of childhood, playing in the woods. Good days look like a text from a friend that reads, "you are the sun and moon", to which I reply, "and all my stars" because edward is my most beloved of all my favorite poets.

Bad days look like waking from nightmares from ICU, and that moment when I noticed the whites of his eyes through a sliver of lid, and the knowing that nobody was home in there except the machines. Bad days look like the anxiety of knowing that I am only parent left and I must do everything possible to protect my child and myself. Bad days look like crying over lost insurance due to inefficient archaic systems that took 6 months to reach my account and now will have to wait 6 mos for open enrollment. Bad days look like the fear of taxes owed due to what appears as though it's increased income due to survivor annuity, but it's not extra income because he died and I still don't have any income.