Sometimes there is too much to write. Occasionally too much has happened, event-wise, to keep the interest of the writer, let alone the reader. It's not uncommon for a person to be so overwhelmed, emotionally, that the person cannot sort all those emotions out themselves, let alone write them out (though perhaps that can help). Sometimes bad luck and good luck seem so frustratingly intertwined that you can't complain about the one without renouncing the other.
Let's start with my arrival home. That occurred last friday afternoon. Two days later, my mother had a heart attack.
The glorious thing about my mother - well one of many - is that she doesn't like the sort of attention these issues attract. I arrived home to see her heading into my room to lie on my bed. "What are you doing?" I asked her, surprised that she would go to MY room to lie down.
"Oh, I might be having a heart attack. I'm just going to lie down in your bed for a while" she told me, in much the same tone she might have used to inform me that she had been considering cheeseburgers for dinner. Honestly, I'm thankful for that, because I think her attitude in just that minute was what sustained me calmly through the whole ordeal.
She was in the hospital for 2 nights, and on the 3rd night she returned. They don't have a lot of answers for her about the cause - she hadn't been at risk for it. She seems perfectly happy and able , though she's taking it slowly as she's been advised to do. I'm glad I'm here.
I try to imagine getting a call in the Philippines "Your mother's had a heart attack". I can't imagine it. I can't. So when it comes down to it, the knee deep pool of post-peace-corps-feces I feel like I'm wading in seems to drop substantially in thickness. But I'll talk about it anyway, given that it's essentially enveloped my life.
Lets make that a mercifully separate entry though