IN WHICH OUR NEUROTIC LADY’S HUSBAND ATTENDS THE TEMPLE AND RETURNS HOME WITH A BAD JOKE
The temple is a place of solace. I know this not only because I have attended frequently in my former blessed life, but because on Saturday my husband went and the difference in him before and after he went was almost palpable. Before he went, it was like he was ragged around the edges, and afterward, all his loose strings had been bound and stitched neatly into a tight hem. I am not referring to the state of his suit, which being a solid black color, is dangerous to wear on Sundays. Eva will find a way every Sacrament meeting to wipe snot, tears, or grubby hands on it. Also, she has become adept at flicking soy milk from her straw cup at us both. I am rather referring to the very edges of his soul, which will have need of spiritual patching after our last few weeks.
Upon his return, my husband found me here at the computer, and said to me, “Tara, You’re going to die…” My heart stopped beating. (“Man, I knew I shouldn’t have put that post about my patriarchal blessing up on my blog,” I thought). Jon eventually continued, “ …But not yet, You will have a long and healthy life.” Thud, thud. BAD JOKE!!! I would regard it as good manners to never make a joke like that around terminally ill cancer patients.