Monday, May 8, 2017


Standing in a half crouch, I turn away squeezing my eyes shut and pressing my ears closed with my fingers.  I do not breath, until I hear a muffled, "Barbara it is OK." I blink furiously and watch the flame surround the pan on the stove top. Jerry thought it was funny, but anxiety is debilitating.

My father held fear in his back pocket.  I couldn't mow the lawn because I might cut off a foot.  I couldn't climb a ladder because I might fall off.  Everything in my life was a potential life threatening affair.  As an adult, my anxiety is tempered somewhat, but at times I can still hear my father's voice in my head audio flashing, "Unsafe.  Warning. Stay away. You'll get hurt or blow up. Warning.  Warning."

Tonight I had planned a dish that required sauteing and then baking.  After chopping an onion, I turned the knob to engage the flame under the cast iron pan and nothing happened.  I tried another.  Nothing.  I thought I detected gas with those few attempts, so I stopped.  If Jerry were here he would confidently get a match and light it manually.  If that didn't work, he would check the level of propane.  Hearing warnings chattering in my head, I did neither; instead I plugged in the instant pot and began sauteing the onions.  In less than 20 minutes I was eating. Sometimes, it just isn't worth it to stress.

1 comment:

Mary Ann Reilly said...

So wise. Yes, it isn;t worth the stress when stress is so much a part of living after loss.