[From the early pages of Dr. Nathaniel’s African journal.]

Today, I shall be sad.

Somehow, strangely, the phrase brings me hope.

Perhaps it is the implied boundary. Though I think it is something else.

I think it is an embrace of this part of me — of us — which is quite real. True. Genuine. Heart-whole.

An understanding. At last. Again. That when our emotions are picked and fastened together in a bunch — like the perfect bouquet they can be — should be — then each bloom emanates its own aroma resulting in the special perfume which is us.

Me.

You.

Today, I shall be sad.

I shall be sad because — while there is love — much comes from a commitment to unconditionality. Not to reality.

Today, I shall be sad because of the little boy who rarely smiles. “Pathetic,” they say. I say. Because, while ailments of body have been treated, the aches caused by an unknown evil remain. Perhaps forever.

I shall be sad because of the forlorn old woman who always carried an empty basket; her only desire to brim every other. But they’re all empty now. So she will be alone.

Today, I shall be sad because even when you do unto others as you would have them do unto you — they may not. Because selfishness hurts.

I shall be sad because these treads in my climb aren’t worth it. Ruinous even.

Today, I shall be sad because hope does not always deliver. Because good added to good may not produce more good. Because bad things DO happen.

I shall be sad because it doesn’t all even out in the end. Because bad people don’t always get theirs. And because good people often do.

Today, I shall be sad because. Because I am. 

Tomorrow, the breeze will feed my spirit with life. And the candlelight will warm me again.

The goodnight kiss will electrify. And the conversation will make me laugh.

The song will be mine. And the cuddle will be splendid.

The kids will giggle. And I will delight.

The raindrops will refresh. And the smile will be enough.

But today.

Today.

I shall be sad.

In fourteen days, it will be three years since I lost my first baby, Milo. I miss him so. I still grieve. But our hope is great enough to light the dark places the make us whole.

Even good.