Warm Arms
Depression Visited
Depression visited yesterday. She was on a road trip for a couple of months but heard the gentle dropping of my tears and came home to comfort me.
Many, especially those who don’t know her, think Depression is a cold-hearted ogre. She isn’t. At least, not for me.
Depression is the mother I never knew who wraps me warmly in her embrace, lovingly touches my tears, and whispers that I am okay just as I am — sad and lonely and lost.
My husband hired a woman to clean our home. For years after retirement, he did the household chores but no longer can do all of them. Age and medications created limitations. It pains him to see me working six days a week and spending my day off scrubbing bathrooms and steaming floors, the tasks that are most difficult for him.
So, he hired Raquel. She showed up with her almost-seven-year-old son in tow (he shares my granddaughter’s birthday this week). He carried a lunchbox and a child’s tablet. She apologized for not having a sitter and promised he’d be quiet and good.
I wasn’t so sure. Besides general cleaning, Ben asked her to tackle the refrigerator and oven. Raquel and her son would be in our home at least two hours. Two or more hours is a long time for a young child to be quiet and good.
