retreat day 1 - the arrival

Yesterday morning I woke early with an oozing eye. This happens to me sometimes when I have a cold—the snot tries to exit through the tear duct of my left eye. I know. I know. I wish there was a more delicate way to say it, but there’s not.

I wasn’t too concerned about the eye during the day yesterday, but by evening, as I headed off to teach my creative nonfiction class, I realized it felt as if someone had emptied a shovel full of dirt onto my eyeball. By the end of my class, the left side of my face hurt, and it felt as though there might have been tiny shards of glass in that shovel of dirt.

Two of my students—both of whom are nurses—said that I should go to the doctor. “You need to get that looked at before you leave town.”

I sighed. Okay. But it was 9:45 and even Urgent Care was closed. I drove home. But things weren’t getting any better; by the time I walked into my house, I was convinced that my sinuses had ruptured and I was doomed—I would not be able to go to the retreat; the fluid would take over my face; my brain might explode. (Once I begin on this train of thought, it’s difficult to for me to redirect. I put my jacket back on and drove to the ER.)

The ER. What can I say? Three hours later—at 1:30 a.m.—I was finally home, a very expensive tube of antibiotic ointment in hand, my eye swollen shut.

I slept. Then this morning—was that just this morning?—I frantically got the kids ready, dropped Zoë off at toddler school, passed Stella into the hands of my sister, and wondered what I had forgotten to pack. (The whole while looking like Quasimodo.)

Maybe I forgot to pack something, but it doesn’t matter now. The sky is the pale blue of a wintery late afternoon. Outside my window are tall Aspen trees, white bark peeling. Curling like a hundred ancient scrolls.

There is an energy here at Faith’s Lodge that I’ve never felt before. It’s as if all of the families who have stayed in these rooms, stood on these balconies, and walked these trails have left a little bit of themselves here. As if they’ve left a little bit of the love they have for their children.

So now I feel myself take a deep breath, loosen my hold, uncoil. A space opens in my head, a clearing.