There is no excuse for me feeling tired today: I was off yesterday, and for all of last week. And yet I have felt shattered, notwithstanding. This morning I went on my customary Friday cycle tour of the parish, delivering newsletters to the congregation members who aren't online. Many of them are now worshipping in the church physically again, but not all, so we keep up the 'remote offer' to give people the choice. I got back and found I could hardly speak, even to myself, or God. For the Lord this may well have come as a relief, I don't know.
But I wanted to find out what was happening to Deirdre. Deirdre had gone into hospital a few weeks ago and I had heard nothing more. Yet, a couple of weeks ago, I dropped her weekly newsletter off and was sure I heard the TV on, so I wasn't sure what the situation was. Deirdre's niece told me she had come home the day before I heard the TV, promptly fallen over, contracted an infection (not COVID) and been readmitted to hospital. She was now staying in a care home for at least six weeks.
I needed to know this information. The trouble was that Deirdre's niece rehearsed it and some other details several times in the course of the call. It was one of those conversations which you are sure has come to an end and then restarts, or rather goes back to the beginning again on a loop. By the end I was walking around the study with the phone and all but screaming. When I could finally hang up I was amazed to find the conversation had only taken twelve minutes. I told myself Deirdre's niece clearly needed to talk it through with someone, even if I had absolutely nothing to contribute beyond 'yes, absolutely, I'm sure' and so on. Had I been in a fit state, there still wouldn't have been anything to say.
Curiously I stopped feeling shattered about 5pm, and that had no reason for it either!
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