Last year, on the morning of Tuesday, November 20th, two days before Thanksgiving, I found out something so horrible that a little part of me died -- a little part that had to do with faith and hope and my perception of the universe. My already bruised heart shattered into tiny little pieces, and I had neither the energy nor the desire to pick them up again.
Like magic, my friends emerged from the woodwork with velvet-lined baskets and Crazy Glue in hand. They patched me up and refilled my heart with a different kind of love, a better kind of love, a higher quality octane than the bathtub moonshine shit I'd been subsisting on for years. I went through confession, detox, reeducation, reevaluation, and reemergence -- a process that swallowed six of the quietest months of my life.
And when I did come out of my cocoon, I had to learn how to walk all over again. Luckily, I had some of the most important people in my life there waiting for me, helping me step out and move on. Luckily. Oh, yes. I am a lucky girl. I stood on an Oregon beach on a clear blue morning and screamed as much to the world.
I am not a different person as a result of what happened, but I am a stronger person. I am a woman coming to terms with her own fabulousness. And I thank my friends every single day for being exactly who and what I needed them to be, when I needed them. "That's what friends do," they reminded me.
Yesterday, I was speaking to a friend and realized that November 20th had come and gone, and I hadn't even noticed. Which is exactly what I had wished for: that the day would come, and that I would not mark its passing.
It's nice to get what you wish for.
This past January, when I saw the Foo Fighters in concert, my wish was for them to leave one song in particular off their set list -- and they did. If smells are the number one vehicle for memory recall, songs have got to be a very close second, and I wasn't ready to deal with those particular memories just yet. Happily, Dave Grohl sang every song I wanted to hear, a few more songs I needed to hear, and I left the crumbling concert hall on cloud nine.
The song they skipped? "Next Year." (I love this video.)
I'm working on my annual Happy Holidays CD (I anticipate a Street Date of December 1st, for those folks eager to get it in their hot little hands), and after hearing version 2.0 for the umpteenth time, I switched iTunes back to Shuffle. "Next Year" was playing before I realized it. Once I did I smiled and lip-synched the words all the way through. The song was on the 2006 Holiday CD. It's a good song. Hearing it again was like welcoming home an old friend who had been gone for so long you wondered if they even remembered you. I was happy to find that song on my doorstep, and I invited it in. Because that's what friends do.