The days that blew up the world, and the anniversaries you never asked for.
Have you ever had a bad day and thought the world was over?
I have. I scheduled a panel of faculty members for an event and on the morning of, one of them emailed to tell me that I had told them to be there at one time, yet advertised the event at a completely different time. I was sneaking in a 7am ride before work and checked my phone while leading the horse to the arena. I felt so stupid. I frantically emailed the panelists, changing the time I had asked them to reserve, and then I sat on the mounting block and cried. I was so embarrassed and upset. I felt like a fool. And in a small and dramatic way, I felt that my life was over. I know, there is space for that pain and embarrassment in the world.
But the truth is this: it is more helpful to me is to remember that day ended up being of no consequence at all. Even if I had gotten reprimanded at work or canceled an event, it would still be of no consequence at all. If I hadn’t written it down, I probably would have forgotten it ever had happened at all, like so many other bad things that have happened. This is helpful to me because undoubtedly, I will have a bad moment, or even a bad day, and it will seem like everything is sobig and sobad and willalwaysbethisway. For a moment, I can allow that truth to run through my body. And then I can have compassion for myself, perspective on the situation, and allow that moment, that day, to fade. My compassion can override my self-judgment and I can remember that this is of little or no consequence. This ohshitohshitohshit feeling will pass, and I will remember that I have survived worse and likely will again.
So can I tell you about some days that really were bad?
The day I found out Mopsy had cancer.
The day I found out Mopsy was going to die.
The day before Mopsy died, and I watched her do all these things and I knew it would be for the last time.
The day Carlo had open heart surgery.
The day Carlo had his leg amputated.
The day Carlo had his other leg amputated and died in surgery.
The day Andy killed himself.
The day Joslyn went on hospice care.
The day Chloe got run over.
Those were bad days, filled with uncertainty and loss and heartache, real and raw. Those ripples from those stones would reverberate outwardly, maybe forever. These are the days that blew up the world. The knowledge of these days helps me to acknowledge and let go of the trivialities and blemishes that crept into all the other ones. Because I know, no matter what happens, it probably won’t be as bad as holding someone you love and feeling them take their last breath.
Every year, you pass the anniversary of your death. You pass the anniversary of every awful thing that has happened and of others that haven’t yet happened, little touchstones that implode the world, cleaving it neatly into a before and an after that you never asked for and most of the time, could have never anticipated.
There is a last time you will ride in a car. The last time you take a step. The last time you eat a meal. The last time you go to the bathroom by yourself. The last time you see someone you love. The last time you do something you love. The last time you hold their hand.
There are smaller lasts, like the last time your mom picks you up or the last time you throw a ball around with your dad. The last time your dad packs a lunch. The last time your sister helps you get dressed. The last diaper your baby wears. The last time she holds your hand walking into a store. The last time she kisses you on the lips. These are the grim milestones that jolt us awake and allow us to keep perspective of the million other ways our days go sideways around us.
These days happen and happen, and our world is over again and again.
May the tragedies of life help us weather the mundane and muddled.
May the burdens of the world show us the lightness of self-compassion.
May we carry the love of our losses with us always.
May the big tragedies of our lives help us remember that we can weather all the small ones.