Cross over

I have just emerged from a stomach virus, and while many of my readers know that I am not shy when it comes to details, I would actually like to spare myself the re-living of the last 32 hours.
Sweet Jesus Christ. In my frenzy to end the almost unbearable cramping I scalded my stomach with the hot pack. So, I do have actual scars from this event. They are symbolic.
And very unattractive.
Now I am feeling the breeze on my skinny neck, the sun is out, the air is hanging on to the sharp smell of dirt and cut grass, and I am reminded of other moments like this, where, I thought for certain that things would not get better. I'm sure everyone has multiple moments, even eras, of hopelessness, compounded by pain, or illness, or god forbid, both. But all of that angst and writhing must be worth something, and the older I get, the more assured I am that the other side is near and it is better than I imagined.
Who ever knew that a Coca-Cola and a pack of saltines would be a means for salvation? Or that a long embrace would re energize one's belief in compassion? Who ever thought that loneliness could kill you? Or that a cup of coffee with a sibling would allow you to smile for one more day?
I know these things now. I know them like I know all the expressions on my kids' faces. Last weekend, right as I was hitting one of my low moments (usually around 5 p.m. on a weekend night) I pulled over to the side of the road to watch the sun wash over a hay field. It was literally golden, something the Pharaohs must have seen in their own reflections. I breathed, and watched and then got back in the car and continued my trek up to Mt. Washington, where, at the top of the mountain, my friends were waiting for me with a beer, a lot of laughter, and the best goddamn catfish I've had since my grandmother made it over 12 years ago.
Amazing. I can still taste the catfish.