"Good afternoon, boys."
The voice was oddly familiar, but oddly different. It had a matriarchal twang. It announced itself to the crew as they arrived at the airlock hatchway that would let them out on the planet surface.
They looked at each other in puzzlement.
"It's the computer," explained Zaphod. "I discovered it had an emergency back-up personality that I thought might work out better."
"Now this is going to be your first day out on a strange new planet," continued Eddie's new voice, "so I want you all wrapped up snug and warm, and no playing with any naughty bug-eyed monsters."
Eddie, the ship's computer, has morphed from a a science fiction version of Pollyanna into Mrs. Doubtfire, it appears. All positive and happy--the glass is half-full--into all warm and overly-protective--don't drink from the glass unless it's been washed and sterilized. And it happens at the flip of a switch, it seems.
Life is like that sometimes. Everything seems to be running smoothly, going as planned, and then--WHAM!--serious illness or job-loss or heartbreak. No matter how sane or balanced you think you are, there is simply no way to prepare for the WHAM! It leaves you in pieces, trying to figure out how to move forward.
Someone I love very dearly is dealing with a WHAM! tonight. (No, I am not writing a veiled post about myself. Don't go there.) I won't give any details. That's not up to me. This someone, however, has dealt with a lot of struggles in life. Crippling social anxiety. The deaths of many close family members. Some serious family issues with addictions and mental illness. Yet, this someone has persevered and overcome most of these obstacles to become a person I admire and cherish, who always puts other's needs first.
I am heartbroken for this someone. Pray that s/he will remember how much love surrounds her/him. I know that it is easy to embrace darkness, to let it cover you until you disappear. Broken hearts are not easy things to mend. There is no switch to flip. Healing takes time, patience, love, and hope. That is what I told this someone tonight. Hope is what has carried me through the valleys of my life (and there have been a lot of them). Emily Dickinson described hope like this:
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul--
And sings the tune without the words--
And never stops--at all--
And sweetest--in the Gale--is heard--
And sore must be the storm--
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm--
I've heard it in the chillest land--
And on the strangest Sea--
Yet--never--in Extremity,
It asked a crumb--of me.
Tonight, I will tell this someone about the thing with feathers perching in the soul. Will say, "Listen. You can hear it singing, even in the middle of the night." Yes, at the moment, winds are blowing so loudly that the Bird's music is almost drowned out. But it's still there with its wordless tune.
This someone, please listen. Know that you are an amazing and beautiful being. Know that love never dies. It changes. Grows. Shrinks. Grows again. That Bird is singing for you now. It will keep singing. Whistle along with it, if you want. Hum. Let it gather the scraps of your broken heart and build a nest with them.
And know that Saint Marty will always be there for you.
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