The parish picnic, just hearing those words causes a fist to tighten around my chest as the stress rises in my throat, choking me. Welcome home. In years past there were a few of us that did the coordination. Then there were two hearty souls, and this year just me; crazy woman. For months the planning and gathering of supplies has taken place. The bright side, coordinating meetings for one; easy as pie. No worries about reserving a room. And most details were worked out on the fly.
Still a tornado of details spins in my head; games, prizes, signs, food, bouncey house. My heart rate rises; and I close my eyes to gain a better perspective. Quiet settles in. I see words: DICE, HOOLA HOOPS, SILLY BANDS graffitied on my retina, while I sit in the middle of a darken space, where nothing touches me. I remember to send out an email requesting the hall and cabinet keys. Another to do taken from the plate. The load is lightened. The sky brightens.
Protected and calm, I know I am not weathering this storm alone.