When the Pills Are Like Communion Bread

For now though, when I look at the real choices before me, I pick up that red bottle and break the pills, like pieces of communion bread – grace I need, grace I cannot afford to do without.

* * * * *

And then she asks again how I’m doing with the Vitamin L – my daily dose of Lexapro. It has been six years.  Six year since I was able to release the words, the pain, the confusion, and the power of fear by saying out loud what I couldn’t imagine saying even to myself.

“I think I am depressed.”

* * * * *

We agree, to the best of our ability, that racism is still a problem in the world. We have raised awareness, taken stands, and we have composed Tweets and posts and essays about the evil of it all. There will always be a need for that. As long as racism exists, there will be a need for us to say it’s not okay for conferences and churches and schools and restaurants and neighborhoods and others to overlook or mistreat or prefer or exclude.

* * * * *

There’s no end to how social media has impacted our lives and the way we mourn is no exception. It’s something we’re all figuring out together but I haven’t seen it discussed very much and that’s why I thought it would be the perfect topic for my first online course, especially since the holidays- those great magnifiers of our grief- are just around the corner.

* * * * *

“As somebody who is listening, I just want to commend you on your bravery, and say that I’m so happy to know there are people like you who exist in the world.”