The Aftereffects of Adrenaline

This past December, I wrote a piece entitled “Sound Travels in the Country,” about growing up in the country, and what it means to hear the plaintive wail of an ambulance on a stretch of road that is all family farms. Today I heard that ambulance as I ran to my car, and I knew where it was going, and why, and as my car accelerated, I held my breath.

Everyone is home now, and I can let out my breath. Yet I still feel winded and leaden, as though my body and soul have fused into a leaden lump.

A cheerful wagon ride with cousins.

It’s a strange time right now, with fear and uncertainty tearing at us all. Our humanity is tested. My patience strains on the best of days – and all I can say (to myself if not to anyone else) is tell the people you love how much you love them. You may not be able to see them, or embrace them right now- and some of the faces you love most and long to see are no longer part of this earthly plane – but our ability to love does make us stronger (even if it hurts like hell sometimes). Be grateful for your existence right now.

I’m so grateful and thankful for the ability to call 911 and have someone answer – and for the emergency medical professionals who venture out whenever that anguished call is placed. (I’m also strangely relieved that I possess a hearty set of lungs, and that when I screamed, my husband, out beyond sight on the farm,  heard me, and came running, so that I could speed away toward the carrying sound of the ambulance.)

I’m so glad  to be home, and have the people I love in their homes.

Now I’m going to attack some weeds in my garden, and hopefully disperse the rest of the day’s stress. Take care of yourselves out there.