Darlings, I am back among the living!

The Scary Medical Test is behind me now, and not only was it nothing serious, it was nothing at all. Except yet more proof that I am (and always have been) talented at imagining the worst.

Because I have survived, I now must live up to my oath that I will never, ever be cranky another moment in my life. I will be pure joy and lightness all the time, because what, really is there to be upset about when you have your health? So don’t expect any more whining from me! Ooh, it’s sunny. Boo hoo! Ooh, I don’t have a boyfriend and I’m going to die old and alone! Smack! I mean, I am young and successful and the world is my playground, and isn’t this frighteningly sunny weather we’re having just dee-lightful? Now pass the champagne, s’il vous plait!

Speaking of the boyfriend issue, however. I relied just a little too heavily on certain ex-boyfriends during my most recent trauma, and am now paying the price. That is, in the face of my mortality, I grabbed for comfort where I could find it, and oh my, was it comforting. It made me feel like a whole person again, connected to the earth, connected to my body, connected to someone else, the way it should be – and then, in a shimmering instant, it was gone. But life, as I’ve realized, is mostly about moments anyway. They come and they go, the happy and the sad, and there’s no point trying to hold on, because before you know it, the next moment is there.

I had another moment on Wednesday. The day I went outside to ruin my Good Hair in the glorious rain and hail. I walked around company grounds, lined by corporate buildings and parking lots. Let the rain penetrate my soul and tried not to feel scared about my upcoming Scary Medical Test, no less scary because it was set to occur on March 18 - the day my father died 7 years ago.

Then I saw a hummingbird. He lit on a flowering tree to drink from a magenta flower, heavy with rain. And he drank and he drank, letting me watch him. But then he did something I’ve never seen a hummingbird do. He sat his phosphorescent, trembling little body down on a branch and looked at me. Not only did he look straight into my eyes, he talked to me. Without speaking, he cocked his head this way and that, “It’s OK, little girl. I’m here to take care of you, just like I always have been. Don’t worry. It’s OK.” For a full ten seconds, he spoke to me. Reassured me. His tiny body shivering in the rain, a heavenly being not used to sitting still. Then he took another drink and was gone.

I wished he would stay, of course, but I knew he couldn't. I also know he'll come again, because that's he way life is. Moments come, moments go, people come, people go. Comfort is usually just a memory, but mostly that's enough.