Endurance

Have you ever cried so much that your eyes seemed like they would fall right out of their sockets? Have you ever wept so much that every inhalation felt like you were sniffing ground-up glass? Have you ever bawled long enough that your eyes were tiny yet swollen slits and your lungs hurt every time air entered or exited them? Have you ever hurt so deeply and so completely that you seriously thought you’ll never recover? Have you ever wanted crawl into your bed right now, in the midst of this swirling inferno of misery, and never, ever get up?

Don’t call or text or ring the doorbell because there will be no answer. None.
At some point in this future I may find the strength to plaster on an insincere smile and reply “Fine” when asked the inevitable “How was your Mother’s Day?” But I won’t mean it. I won’t feel it.

I just won’t.

Don’t bother telling me I have so much to be grateful for. Don’t insult me by telling me to look on the bright side. Don’t waste my time pointing out all the good in my life.

Just don’t.

I can endure the long-distance slog that is facing a cancer diagnosis. I’ve never been one to deceive myself when reality stared me in the face.

I can handle hearing the worst possible news and do it with an inquisitive look on my face.

I can hear the worst-possible news with dignity and without falling apart (at least not in public).

I can face everyone’s worst nightmare without ever once whimpering, crying, or losing it.

I can digest the worst-case scenario with a straight back and a strong will.

I can formulate a Plan-B after Plan-A dissolves like the pages in a generations-old photo album, then start working on Plan C as soon as it becomes apparent that Plan B is hopeless, too.

I can dot every “i” and cross every “t” and still be shocked when there’s no pay-off for playing by the rules.

I can handle more stress than I ever before imagined, and I can get through more harrowing ordeals than I ever would have expected.

I can endure worse pain than that required to bring a new life into the world.

I can take it when I’m told again & again that no one anticipated the scenario that has become my reality.

I can suck it up and grit my teeth through repeated instances of “no one saw this coming.”

I can make it thorough the extreme mental challenges that follow a worst-case-scenario physical test.

I can serve as the poster child for “who in the hell has that kind of terrible bad luck?”

I can thrive amidst the “everything that could go wrong did go wrong” scene.

I can be the one that even the oddsmaker wouldn’t have predicted–and not in a big-winner way.

But pit me barefoot against a goat-head thorn and I may just crumble. Ask me to endure that sharp stick of brittle thorn into the tender flesh between my toes, and I may not make it.

That thorn may just do me in.