She wears her heart on her sleeve.
The meaning is obvious. But why her sleeve? Why not her chest , where her heart beats? Or her eyes, the window to her soul?
I can’t hide my emotions. My eyes widen in excitement. Crinkles form at their edges when conflict looms. And they leak or at least threaten to when I am troubled.
Troubled (v) disturbance in mental calm and contentment
October is a hard month. The air is thin. The memories vivid. Being okay is subjective, given the circumstances. Losing a spouse and wading through 12 months of hills and valleys is hard enough. Reliving the end when so much is gained in the journey, brings pause to potential back sliding into the pit waiting at the end of the month.
Wallowing there is an option. A lapse of world expectations disappear. It’s just you and your buddy, despair. Some would say the pit is a safe place, a cocoon. Add food and alcohol to deaden memories. I fear the pit is deep. The sides are slippery, and the climb upward is steep.
I won’t go there.
I will remember.
I will cry.
I will be thankful for what was.
Jan Murphy Author 