On Sunday I…

I usually hear people hating on Monday with all of their heart. Beginning of the work week. End of the weekend. Boo. 

I’m not so much in the “I Hate Monday” club. Sunday. Sunday is the day I dislike. 

Monday mornings are actually my favorite time of the week — I get to spend time with a handful of two year olds and their mamas… More on that another day. 

So why do I hate Sunday? The simple answer:

There’s no mail service on Sunday. 

LOL — What?!

For real. It’s as simple as that. At least in my brain… Let me explain further…

I do not and am not able to drive. I never leave the house without supervision. If I need to go anywhere I have to ask someone to take me or to pick something up for me. I am completely reliant on another human to be able to leave my home. 

Except for the mail. I can go outside and walk down the driveway to get my mail every single day. Except on Sunday. 

I look forward to it. I usually try to walk barefoot or only with socks so I can feel the ground under my feet. I take my sweet time and drag in deep and long breaths. I put the mail in a tote if the box is bursting (usually the case) or stuff it under my armpit as I slowly walk back to the house and go inside. 

I have accomplished something. I am a contributing member to this household. I was able to leave the house and return on my own terms. 


Today is Sunday and the box is empty – Sometimes I take my mini-walk to the box “just in case” I missed something on Saturday. 

I didn’t. It’s empty and I am unfulfilled. There was no purpose to my tiny venture outside. I was not able to contribute anything to our household. I was able to breathe deep and feel the earth under my feet, but that isn’t enough. 

What’s the point? What am I really talking about? What’s really going on here? 

It obviously a lot more about Sunday and the need to retrieve our mail…

By definition, I am housebound. I don’t know how to drive nor do I know if I will ever be allowed the opportunity to learn again. If Allen and I were still in Chicago, the situation would be vastly different. But we are not. We are in an exact opposite environment. We live in a very small community that has no public transportation. You must have a car to get anywhere you please. You must be able to drive to run a “quick” errand. We are easily 20-30 miles or minutes away from any mainstream or even mildy “bustling” communities. 

Freedom. That is the true issue. The freedom to run to the bank has been taken from me. The freedom to pop over to the grocery store for a missing ingredient is no longer there. The freedom to treat myself with a small outing to a coffee shop has vanished. No longer can I casually meet up with friends. No longer can I be depended upon if someone somewhere needs help. I am the someone somewhere always needing help. 

My traumatic brain injury triumphs once more… That’s why I do not like Sunday. 

So what do I do about it? Nothing really… Reality is what it is. I do not drive. I can not drive. #fact

How do I make Sunday a little less painful and a little more productive? Well. I’m not really sure. To be honest I usually binge watch Hulu or Netflix, work on my planner, chill out on social media… Not really the most productive of tasks. 

But Sunday is a “day of rest!” You should do those things and just chill out. 

Don’t worry. It’s what I do best. But I want more. I’m struggling to find a bigger purpose on this planet as the new post-accident Theresa and each tiny thing adds up and is helpful in my recovery…

Maybe Sunday can be my Nature Sanctuary day? It’s a little area of peace and calm my brother helped to create in our back yard. 

The Nature Sanctuary even houses a Frog Motel. And the little suckers love it. 

It would be nice to plant some more blueberry bushes or native-to-Ohio plants, bee-friendly flowers… I could go on. Or maybe I should just go there and sit. Soak it all in. 

This is spiraling into a rabbit hole of wannabe projects that, yes, would require me to have access to a car… to drive to the nursery… to purchase the plants… It’s just so frustrating to not have that freedom. Knowing that I can’t just pop in the car for a quick trip…

I digress. 

Sundays could be my “weed the weeds” day. Or pick up the sticks our giant trees love to shed day. 

This planter has been sitting by our front door for over a week now. My husband works non-stop (he’s actually in Chicago with his band this weekend) and even when he is working from home he has time for very little besides the bare necessities. Mad respect. He’s a badass business owner and works harder than most men I’ve met. Basically — He’s too busy providing for our single income family for extras… And I am not mad about that. 

This planter needs flowers. I would love nothing more to drive to a local nursery and take my time picking out some pretty flowers to greet our guests. 

Let’s wrap this up. Sundays are hard. 

Mahal, Mrs. Cruz

P. S. Here’s a throwback to when I did work on our yard and our garden. Fond memories. I look at this picture longingly… 

“When it comes to life the critical thing is whether you take things for granted or take them with gratitude.” –Gilbert K. Chesterton


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