Tough to be down on a sunny morning

So I found myself annoyed and down yesteday. Wifey's back is mired in pain, and she's down, and as black comedians have noted, if mama ain't happy, ain't no one in the house happy. I got a call from an old friend lamenting her sick brother, who lives a 4 hour drive away. She went on and on about how bad she feels, and whether he's getting the right treatment, and is he depressed, and finally I asked why the hell she didn't just get in the car, pop in a cd, and go visit him? Well, she said, she would but she has all these committments here, and responsibilities, and kids... Whatever. I've realized over the years that talk is cheap when it comes to relatives. Change the diapers, feed them, send them to college. That's love. Talking about how bad you feel is just cheap talk. Then, Dr. Barry called, to share a tale of a patient he's followed since she was 5. She was born with an awful genetic blood disorder, and has endured a liver transplant and series of strokes. She is now 22. Her parents asked Barry to come to the unit to say goodbye. He arrived, and they grabbed him in a tearful bear hug -- thanking him over and over for all he's done for their daughter. They're taking her to hospice now. Barry nearly lost it, but kept his professionalism, and thanked THEM, for all they've taught the staff about love and strength and commitment. Once again, he reminded me of what I already know -- my problems don't amount to a hill of beans. And then, to truly rub my nose in my stinking self pity -- he told me that he recently got emails from both the Ds, and how taken aback he was by how warm and caring they are. He reminded me that despite our manifold psychopathologies, somehow Wifey and I raised to golden people...if he had daughters, he'd want them to be his. So I slept like a baby on benadryl, and awoke to an absurdly bright sun, and unseasonably cool temperature. It's late April, and a strange cold front made it sixty degrees with low humidity. The dogs and I fetched the paper, and read it together with coffee under the gumbo limbos that surround my pool. Just saying the name of that tree brings a smile...I always hear it with a Jamaican accent, by, say , Geoffrey Holder, followed by a deep three beat laugh: "Gumbo LIMBO...ha ha ha." Despite my large belly, I reached a leg around and kicked myself in my ass. The day beckons. Life beckons. I stepped over my hill of beans and am taking it on.