Approximately 9 AM.
Song: Sadness As A Gift
Artist: Adrianne Lenker
Mode of consumption: Spotify playlist for 2024
Song link: https://open.spotify.com/track/1UpXhetX1s5OXTY5fRjWvu?si=16200879d5cf4e10
First day of work of the New Year. Come in, change the calendar
on the door, the one where I mark each day off with a blue X as they pass.
Marking time. I’ve done the same thing since late 2015.
I fill in dates for work conferences on the calendar. One in
Springfield in February. One in Ames in March. A trivia night on January 23. Most
of them remain blank. The 2024 calendar with its bevy of notes and “Xs” is waded
into the garbage can under my desk.
As I navigate through emails, I listen to a playlist of
songs released in 2024 that I curated over the year. A Facebook group I started
called “Playlist Pandemonium” is compiling songs this week for favorite tunes
from 2024. I needed to get my choices in.
The fifty-seventh and final song on the list is “Sadness As A
Gift,” by Adrianne Lenker. I didn’t remember adding this song, and I do not
know anything about the artist, but the title catches my attention.
Our 2024 began with us stinging from the death of Jodi’s
father, Lee, in late November. When I met with a friend early in 2024, I
described our existence as “putting one foot in front of another living.”
Sadness is a sapping emotion, absorbing motivation,
inspiration, hope, draining the colors of life sometimes for a second, others a
minute, maybe an hour here, or an afternoon there. Who could forget the entire black-and-white
dreary February days?
A few days before Christmas, one of our horses, a 26-year-old
quarter horse named C.J. with brown fur, and a light-brown mane and tail, laid
down in our back shed. Did you know horses are on their feet about 23 hours a
day? They lock their legs while standing
and do most of their sleeping that way. They usually only spend a few minutes
on the ground at a time.
C.J. had battled several nagging health issues, including issues with her back
legs. We found her about 11 AM and worked for three hours trying to coax her
back to her feet, but to no avail. The vet was called, and the decision was
made. The horse lifted its head toward me, her eyes met mine and her mouth formed
a goofy, toothy grin, the sort of look that seemed to hide a good joke.
It’s hard to consider sadness a gift.
But that look from that horse was a gift. As heartbreaking
as it was, it made me smile. And that’s the gift. Sadness drains everything
out, but when joy and beauty and hope reappear, they flood back all the richer,
saturating our cells thoroughly, just like when we were kids, and every feeling
was new.
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