His arms

I was going to write something about disappointment today. Something about how disappointing it was to miss a day of my beloved Folk Festival because I was busy vomiting and passing out. Something about how I never felt like I fully engaged in the rest of the Folk Festival because I was weary and still queezy and didn't ever have one of those "lost fully in the beauty of it" moments. Something about how disappointing it was to wake up Monday morning (on my "take an extra day off work just to rest" day) only to rush to the toilet for round 2 of this knock-out illness, whatever it is.

But that's not what came flowing from me when I sat down to write. What did come, instead, was gratitude. Gratitude for the man who looked after me all weekend and so patiently wrapped his arms around me so that I wouldn't injure myself when I fell. Gratitude for his understanding of how important this festival is to me. Sometimes one has to live with disappointment to recognize the beauty in the things you might have missed otherwise. This is for you, Marcel.

His arms

He’s given me so much
So much affection
So many meals
So many affirmations
But today
What I marvel at the most
Are the times he’s given me
His arms

It’s his arms that have held me
When I’ve cried about mean bosses
Or difficult choices

It’s his arms that kept me from falling
When the news of my dad’s death came
And my legs betrayed me

It’s his arms that have caressed me
And made me feel loved
When I wasn’t sure I could love myself

It’s his arms that have wrapped around me
And kept my face from hitting the floor
When sickness stole my consciousness

There is so much of him to love
But today I thank God most for
His arms