The dining room floor detached from the wall on Good Friday seven years ago.
I remember staring at the dark void, feeling as though I was smack dab in the middle of a horror movie. Personally, my life was a shambles, and I interpreted this occurrence as a true sign that things were less than balanced. At that instant, I knew the marriage was over — I burst into tears.
What ensued was a long, arduous seven-year journey. I won’t bore you with the details but suffice to say that about four or five of the top life-changing episodes that can push a person into a nervous breakdown came a-calling during that time; but love and work kept the gremlins from taking too high a toll. My children stood close by my side and my friends listened and listened and listened — God bless their souls.
Today is Good Friday. The sun is shining, the pastures are as green as Ireland, and a bluebird just flew into one of the houses on the fence line.
And last time I checked, the floors were all attached to the walls.
The seven years are up, and I’m rearranging the furniture in the dining room.