Gunna Gunna's Special Day

I, like most people in Ohio, have a really bad case of the end-of-winter-blues. We have had so many terrible storms this winter and they have really impacted my mood and my anxiety, making it hard to sleep at night and instead, I stay up worrying about my commute to work the next morning.

And for good reason. An hour commute on a good day takes nearly three hours on a morning filled with freezing rain.

We just had another bad storm yesterday and I passed so many accidents and spin-outs on my way home from work, traveling only 20 miles per hour and praying I would make it home safe. This morning was an equally challenging commute, but I arrived at work safely, at seven a.m. I love getting to work early. My work environment is very hectic and I find myself, like many others, wishing there were two or three of me and that there were more hours in the day. At seven in the morning, the place is quiet and peaceful. I was able to complete several things while on the nursing units and then headed back to my office to make some coffee.

The sun was rising, and my view was trees, trees, and more trees covered in ice and snow. Each single, tiny branch was layered in a sheet of ice, perfectly placed as though someone painted it. The sun made it glittery and shiny in a way that made me stop what I was doing and just look. It was beautiful. And it made my whole day.

Sometimes I worry that I am still too down about my mom, and having been faced with so many more challenges after her death, I even wondered whether I would ever be back to normal again. Today I felt normal. I used to love the sun and the clouds and the blue sky, and I can't remember the last time I stopped what I was doing to take it all in.

Life is so tough sometimes, and with what my family has been through in the last two years, I worried that someone or something was actually out to get us. Being caught up in all that worry and fear and stress and anger can change a person, and I am afraid I was heading for that place. That place where you never come out the same.

I think I escaped it this morning. Even though I am on an anti-depressant, which I am sad to report I do not take like I should, I feel as though everything we need to heal ourselves is here on this Earth. No pills. No special diet shakes or workout videos. Nothing like that. Sunshine. And puffy clouds. And the smell of cinnamon and oranges. Or someone you love smiling. I think these are the things that heal broken hearts.

Prescriptions should read: Get up as early as possible, make yourself a cup of tea, and watch the sun rise once a week. Or everyday.

I am finding, also, that there are some very special people in my life who have helped me in ways I never thought possible. After being so low for so long, I realized that I could walk side by side with my husband through absolutely anything. And the pain and longing for my mom was something he also felt. And we share that now, after such a long time believing I was the only one. My best and closest friends have helped make me laugh when it actually hurt to smile. And life would have turned out so differently for me without my aunts there to help keep me sane and make me realize that even though my mom is gone my world does not have to stop.

But then there are those who just exist in our world, those who we see everyday, those who never cross our mind as someone who might make an impact. That someone for me is Gunna Gunna, as she is so famously titled in these posts.

I hate to call her Gunna Gunna because I feel like I'm making fun of her. Really, I would love to call her by her first name but want to keep her privacy. I see her everyday at work and she makes me smile and makes me laugh and I just love her to pieces. I swear there is no one more genuine and sincere as a person than Gunna.

Gunna loves jewelry. The gaudier, the better. Today, she flaunted a white and crystal ring. I made a big fuss over it, and we went through our daily routine: she grabs my work binder out of my hands and holds it in her arms folded across her chest, looks up at me as though she's saying, "Well, come on and push me!", and I push her in her wheelchair to the activities room. On our way there, we always pass a bulletin board I created for our "Biggest Loser" contest with a "before" and "after" picture of the winner who lost almost 40 pounds. Her name is Marcella and she is a physical therapist in our building. Gunna Gunna wanted to stop at the bulletin board. She pointed to Marcella and then pointed to her ring.

Marcella gave Gunna her new shiny ring. I said, "You are so lucky! Everyone loves you so much!" And she giggled and smiled and pointed to her hospital ID bracelet. Her birthday was printed below her name: tomorrow.

"Marcella got you a birthday present?!" I asked Gunna. She nodded, and I continued to tell her how special she was and that since it was her birthday I would bring in a birthday party hat so everyone would know. The hat is sitting on my passenger seat, waiting anxiously to be worn by someone who would really appreciate it.

"How old are you?" I asked her. Her brows furrowed and she scolded me like she was mad I asked her that, but then she looked around to make sure no one would hear her tell me her age. Another resident was coming down the hallway, and she leaned in really close to me. "It's ok, you can whisper it to me," I told her.

She leaned in even closer, put her hand up to her mouth and whispered, "Gunna gunna gunna gunna."

"That's not very old at all!" I said, and she laughed and laughed and patted me on my arm, and I dropped her off at the activities room to play Uno.

Gunna Gunna turns 80 tomorrow.