Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Meet Me In The Bathroom

“Meet me in the bathroom?”

I read the email, squinting through the tears.

“ok,” I replied.

I turned away from my computer slowly to see my roommate walking into the bathroom, tears already in her eyes.

I followed her into our office’s bathroom. She shut the door. I fell onto her shoulder and sobbed, deep heaving sobs that bled the pain I’d been carrying around all day. Her arms held me tight in a way that told me she understood completely. I didn’t have to say a word. I was safe in that moment to be whatever I needed to be, completely understood, completely known, completely me.

When I was able to take a breath I pulled back and wiped my tears and snot off her cardigan. We looked into each others’ red brimmed eyes and attempted to smile.


Much earlier that morning, long before the sun rose, I laid in bed picking scabs of old wounds, touching the fleshy part beneath, reminding myself of the pain, wondering how I would be able to get out of bed the next morning.

The morning came and I stared at the ceiling wishing I could blend into the wall, chameleon-like, to disappear, to be part of the scenery.

All day tears moistened my eyes until they burned.  

After dragging my feet home that day, Taylor again came to my rescue and offered to make the dinner I was scheduled to cook. I crawled into bed and slept until dinner time.

After dinner and some refreshing laughter, I laid in bed again staring at the wall, wondering.

A comforting thought entered my mind, and I smiled:
You have always been a thought in God’s infinite memory.

I fell heavy into sleep.

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