I spent most of yesterday watching the streaming of this.
I had a powerful Mrs. Miniver vibe as I stoically sat in my isolation shelter (the place where my kitchen used to be) drinking tea and calmly knitting away on sock after sock while listening to all the heartfelt messages of solidarity and hope. If Churchill had popped up to give a speech I wouldn't have been in the least surprised.
I was totally chill. I've been totally chill through this whole mess-and then this happened. They closed the show with Celine Dion, Lady Gaga and Andrea Bocelli singing.....The Prayer.
Oh, no. That's MY song. That's the soundtrack to all the grief I have struggled with over the years. I walked miles listening to it after my mother died. I walked more miles to it after losing all my dearly departed critters. I couldn't bring myself to even think about it when we lost Daddio. But there it was.
I didn't get one chorus in before something inside me broke and I bawled like I haven't bawled in a long while. I had a bad case of the ugly sobs that only a long cry in the tub could fix. I cried for my kids. I cried for my grandkids. I cried for me and The Mister. I cried and cried and cried.
I hadn't even realized I was sad. I've been mad-I thought. I spend all day ranting and raving at the TV or the radio or Twitter or the newspaper or.....whatever crosses my path that does not give me the answers I want.
I guess I should have expected it. I've been on high alert for weeks trying to stay one step ahead of disaster.
I think I need a break even though I'm not sure what that even looks like under the circumstances.