All the Tribbles

 Herself speaks.

One of the hardest parts about middle age, is the abundance of small heartaches that have accumulated over time. Like a slow-growing group of tribbles, they appear here and there. We become used to their presence, and we go about our business, watching them out of the corners of our eyes. Every now and then, though, we open an overhead compartment and are besieged by an abundance of tribbles. We suspected they were collecting in number, yet we could not help ourselves -- we looked behind that door to see if they really were there. And yes. Yes, they were. 

Last night as I drove home from work in the waning twilight, I was visited by an armful of tribbles.

There is that large, heavy tribble, that looks like: Beloved Husband's job is wearing him down in ways I am powerless to change, and he has so little time for things that bring happiness. 

There is the quiet background tribble of: my elderly relatives are increasingly ancient and frail and we can see  inescapable Mourning on the horizon.

There is the omnipresent tribble, which I do my best to ignore because I cannot alter its existence: my Cherished Friend is far from this desert land.

There is a small flock of sibling tribbles that appear unexpectedly to tug at the heart: here are reminders of Tiny Dog and my other well-loved pets that have Gone Beyond.

All these tribbles exist in conjunction with many other tiny tribbles of unknown provenance, many of which are ill-defined but nevertheless form part of the tribble flock. 

I cannot change the tribbles. I have to acknowledge their presence. And learn to embrace them as part of How Life Is. 

My new goal: to find tribbles of Joy that will coexist with the tribbles of Sorrow. Together, they will form a beautiful panoply of understanding.  

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.... When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. 

- Kahlil Gibran