I know it's going to be the best day ever ever if I find myself keening within minutes of awakening.

Think about it.

It can only get better.

Seriously.

I've often thought my most sorrowful sounds were related to keening. We all have the boohoo ugly snotty cries, but keening is different. It's a high-pitched wail, which is cleaved to grief. And that's what happened this morning. As I've written before, mornings with IPF have always been my toughest time of day. It's never made sense to me that my well-rested body wakes and starts swinging hard to knock me down before the day has even started.

So, I slipped from the safe comfort of my bed, took a few steps, grabbed fistfuls of Kleenex, teetered on the ledge of oxygen hunger, took an Ativan, and started to keen. I threw my head back and let the monotone high-pitched sounds of sorrow rise and rise. The release of all that sorrow felt good, healing.


*****


Believe it or not, it was a far better start than yesterday when I confused my Ativan and Restoril, my sleep aid, which I take because of a very low dose of Prednisone that messes with my sleep cycle. Good grief. I haven't had a reliable sleep cycle in months, which is just fine. I actually feel just honky-dory fine about the way I free fall through my days and do as I darn well please.

So, yesterday started with me weaving and traipsing and twirling back to bed. I left a note for my Hospice Nurse to wake me when she arrived, which was at 2 pm. Good heavens.



*****


One more thing about keening. Please don't be alarmed. These episodes are rare. With the Irish blood coursing through my veins, it must be instinctive. After my moments of keening, I feel as though I've released hobbling sorrows. It's cleansing... though it's not about tears. Keening digs much deeper - dips into one's very essence.

The gift of keening is the relief of release.

And guess what? I'm having the best day ever ever.

Love.