The sun was out, shining at a soft, breezy angle. We passed under a row of cherry trees and, as we did, a flurry of pink petals whirled down onto our heads and shoulders. We whooped. It was one of those beautiful moments...beautiful moments that came plentifully on that day, Tuesday. Four-year-old daughter was in a feverish tangle on the couch, alternately sleeping and staring catatonically at the ceiling. Her arms and legs hot. I'd never loved her so much as I did on that day, Tuesday. J. pulled me close in the evening, and in response to daughter babbling that she was the cutest person in the family, whispered, "You're the cutest person in this family. And don't forget it." I felt lucky in that moment, on that day, Tuesday. A glass of wine on my friends' deck in the Central District, talk of the impending birth of their baby, the impending birth of their family. To have such friends. I knew it was good, on that day. Tuesday.
But now, patience does its death rattle in my throat. Beauty and appreciation trumped by sickness and shitty weather and long hours apart and long hours together.
Because it is Thursday, after all, and nothing lasts. Not the cherry blossoms or the luck. But also, not the sickness, not the rain.