I got killed by the obits.
Things were going pretty well last night till I crashed hard on the obit page. It’s a very labor intensive page, and suddenly it was gone.
I never really recovered. Made deadline, sort of, if you squint enough. But it was so stressful that sleep was not really an option afterward.
I finally keeled over around 6 a.m. I woke up when Mo was putting on her shoes to go to church. I figured what the heck.
I pulled on pants, a shirt and a shoe, and went with her. She drove while I snored in the passenger’s seat. I weaved around as she held my hand to lead me in.
I never had a chance.
Hazel was perched at the door. Good morning! she exclaimed the way elderly women do when they’ve been up since 4 a.m. And she gave me a big hug.
She’s even more frail than I imagined. I could feel her skeleton through her Sunday dress. She smelled like my grandmother. Like everyone’s grandmother.
For a second I was back in Vancourt. I just wanted to tell her how hard last night was and how scary life can be. I wanted her to give me a cookie and a pat on the head and an assurance that everything would be OK.
And it sort of worked out that way. She gave me a big hug, I got a cup of coffee and a little muffin, and Pastor Rick talked about how church is a place where you get involved.
But it’s more. I think church is a place where you get a hug.
Thanks, Hazel. Sorry it took so long.