Last Sunday

With a lukewarm cup a coffee by my side, I’m probably spending my last Sunday morning sitting in this backyard. As you may already know, the rug got pulled out from under us on our 9 years at this location. It was here in Alamo that we watched our kids graduate and go off the college, join the military, get married, buy homes, and make grandbabies. Lisa just finished hung up a few clothes that needed washing. The smell of the laundry is a silent reminder of everything we live for and are apparently losing.

I don’t mean to ramble on and on about this. But when faced with an unplanned event; it’s more like a funeral then a celebration. In a few of hours it may be the last time I hear the church bell ring at the First Baptist next door. Where I feel like that old pecan tree that once stood at the church. Standing strong for centuries, only to be uprooted by one storm, to be left discarded and cut into pieces. The stoic, macho half of my brain demands that I get over it already. But the inner child, that all of us wishes to ignore is screaming in pain. A pain that’s  effecting a body that frankly is barely letting me hang on.

So why can’t I just stop playing the wounded victim here? And suck it up and be a man and grab this situation by the balls? Well there’s a point in everyone’s life where you stare at the limits you must face. And after decades of fighting and surviving mental breakdowns and near death experiences. The anxiety and fear as found another crack in the armor that is my life. So all I can do at the moment let these emotions flow, while hopefully a situation can be found in the hands of someone else.