Member-only story
Diverted Sunday
When the day doesn’t go as planned, and yet, it goes as it was meant to go
Disclaimer: Some names and details have been changed to protect privacy.
My list was full that Sunday morning. I mean, it kind of had to be, since I’d hit a brick wall the day before. An uncertain employment situation had sent me into a tailspin, the depression that I thought was gone pouring back into my consciousness like viscous ink. I made it to the gym and the grocery store, then sat on the couch and watched the Saturday Night Live 50th Anniversary Show, the one I’d taped the Sunday night before.
Numbly, I laughed at some bits and cringed at others. The last segment, where the actors come out and chat while the band plays, sent tears down my cheeks. They mean so much to each other. Does anyone care that much about me?
Not a fair question, considering I have a spouse, two sons, and a stepson who not only share my house, but frequently tell me they love me. I have other stepchildren who also express love, and friends that are a text away. My parents are still alive, and we talk often. But the ache that plagues me is wondering if I really make a difference in anyone’s life.
If you have clinical depression, you understand this. I knew I had to pop this emotional pimple, squeeze out the pus…
