It seems to fall from the sky, and you expect it to end as suddenly as it seems to have begun. Oh, but calamity continues, and continues, and continues, until it is a river running through your life through which you must wade. Somehow, I used to imagine tragedy as a flashbulb, a big, bright, sharp moment, but only a moment. And a moment you can live through.
But a river? It is so long, and always rushing, rushing me while at the same time moving interminably slowly. I don't know how to face it down. And perhaps that is the point. To allow calamity to wear us down to something smoother, simpler, with fewer implacable demands. To imagine being smooth sits well with me. After all, our calamities, large and small, continue on in our lives with their rivulets unending. I certainly hope that there is something valuable and meaningful in that.
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