I’m not sure when I gave up on not just dissolving into tears at random moments, but it’s been a little while now.

Can’t say for sure what exactly was the tipping point—was it our elderly pets having crises in quick succession? (Things aren’t looking good for Rocky, our other orange tabby cat. That’s three in 7 months.) The obscene heatwave we’re in, and being keenly aware of how my generation failed to do what we should have about climate change? The state of the world? The state of the US? A Belgian expat pointed out in conversation yesterday that fascism* invariably collapses under its own weight, eventually. But there will be a lot of very sad stories until then. Or could it be the sure knowledge that my loved ones and I are…well, old? And things are happening (and will happen faster and more frequently as time passes) that are both unpleasant and unavoidable.

I guess it does matter what triggered this, if only for knowing how—and if—it’ll end.

A few days ago, I read a wonderful OpEd by Anne Lamott. It (almost magically) restored and renewed my faith, and I hope she senses just a tiny fraction of how grateful and relieved I am for that. Here are a few points (some quoted and some paraphrased) that I’m barely hanging onto:

• Prayer connects us umbilically to a spirit both outside and within us, who hears and answers.
• I am barely even a speck in infinite space, helpless, needy and worried. There’s nothing I can do except send my love into that which is so much bigger than me.
• I pray to be a good servant.
• I pray to be ever mindful of the needs of the poor.
• I pray for all of us, especially my loved ones and my sick friends, that we all have days of grace and healing and peace.
• I love them, and have no idea what to do, except to hold them in my heart and turn them over to something that might do better than me.

Then she adds to that last one, “And I hear what to do next.” She’s got me beat on that one.

Icelanders have an expression, very nearly the national motto: “Þetta reddast.” Things will work out okay. I realize that’s completely accurate, but I wonder if I’ll be around/survive/hang on to my sanity/live long enough…or care…when it finally does.

In the meantime, I’ll carry a hanky.