BY JOELLEN COLLINS
I have never been a nap person, but I find myself, as I grow older, enjoying the respite from some of the non-urgent responsibilities I have and am still shocked when, after reading for a while, I find myself with eyes closed, head drooping, and book still open. I do know that that behavior is O.K., and that I do not need to apologize for taking a break now and then from the real world, with renewed strength and a fresh smile on my face. I had a Peace Corps friend who could nap for 10 minutes, and then pop up with restored energy. Ah! I wish…
For many years I have occasionally been called Pollyanna, and I acknowledge its accuracy. I do prefer rose-colored glasses but usually accept the realities when I take them off. In today’s chaotic and very public display of angst, sadness and violence, I often wish I could tune in more easily to the charms and hopes of my napping Pollyanna. I hope she is still there, ready to give comfort, even if only temporary.
You see, I am facing more often than I would wish the challenges of what one can do when one can do nothing. My closest lifelong friend has very recently experienced the death of her beloved husband, and just this week has had to confront her daughter’s diagnosis of a very possibly large malignant tumor and the reality of a very long, invasive surgery. I no longer drive but can Uber to most locations in the Bay Area, so I hoped to help by sitting at my friend’s side through the hours of waiting for the surgical results. For decades I have fully felt part of this stricken family like a sister and aunt. After several emails, texts and phone calls, I accepted the news that my presence wasn’t the best option for that time and didn’t want to cause any friction during the many hours of the operation. I understood that limitation, even though I believe, deep in my soul, that it would have helped for me to be in that waiting room, next to my special buddy.
Now I just hope for chances to help in my “niece’s” recovery, even though I don’t have easy proximity to her house. Sans automobile, I will just have to plan longer times to head many miles north of my residence to aid in any physical manner. Of course, I will still send notes (she’s in the floral décor business, so her home will be full of fresh blooms) and perhaps gifts or reading material, which may help in her long healing days. There are many other obstacles to prevent my spending more time with her, but at least I know her many friends will also be ready to give comfort. I will continue exploring ways I may help, even if I am far away. I know that prayers and positive incantations are necessary, but I am still frustrated.
Oh, Pollyanna, please wake up!