It's Sunday night and I watch Grey's Anatomy with my daughter and we don't care at all about the Superbowl. We watch Grey's. We love it. And tonight my heart cracks wide open and I bury my face in the blanket on my lap and I weep, all because of yesterday.
It was Saturday night and it went like this:
I'm off tomorrow, after 11 days in a row, and so tonight feels like a celebration for G and I. There is dinner in front of the TV - and a rented movie from Amazon Prime - and there are brownies AND ice cream AND chips. I am indulgent and catering to his whims. When our movie is almost over, there is the ultimate finale: "hey G", I say. "I don't have to get up early for work tomorrow, do you want to have a sleep over in my bed?" He hoots with joy while kicking his little bare feet and pumping his little fists into the air. He crows, "This is the BEST night EVER!" I agree with my whole heart.
We are snuggled up in my bed. The heated mattress pads are on, we are in flannels and reclining on an over abundance of pillows. The down comforter and heavy quilt feel safe and cozy. I check some last minute emails in the glow of the reading light. G says, out of the blue, "how old would your momma be now if she were alive?" We've talked about this in the past. He has grandparents from his father and sees them often enough to have a relationship and connection. Both of my parents are long gone, as well as my stepfather. His only connection to 'grandparents' is his fathers parents whom he sees once every few months.
"She would be, um, 76 I think?" I am bad at math and try to calculate as quick as I can - he is amazing at math and I don't feel up to the shame of being wrong right now. He thinks for a minute and then says, "But how old was she when she died?" In the back of my mind I understand that he is asking about my age, and death, and my longevity but my mouth just blurts out the answer, "She was 52", before I can fully grasp that A) he is good at math and B) I am 49.
"Ohhhh..." he says in a whisperish voice (as much as a wild monkey of a 6 yr old boy can whisper) "52? That's so sad momma, 52 just isn't enough!"
*crickets*
"Yeah, buddy, I know... it wasn't enough...but don't worry, I'm strong and healthy and I'll be here for a long long time!" I lie. Who knows? I mean... really. Who knows?
I am crying, again, as I type this.
He is so right. 52 was not enough. Not for her, for her husband, not for me or my brothers, or for HER brothers, not for her mother, or for the grandchildren she knew - nor for the ones she never met. It wasn't enough. Not even close. I cried while hugging my lanky, toothless, 6 year old elbow-ey little boy - the one who never met my momma (who would have LOVED him!) and he hugged me back.
Tonight,because of last night; while watching Greys Anatomy with my 21 year old daughter (who also never met my momma, her grammy, who would have loved her immeasurably) my heart broke along some fault line that was created some 24 years ago and it remains a little wider tonight, a little more crumbly and unstable, and so surprisingly that I'm unable to go for more than 5 minutes without it pinching and hurting me.
I don't know what it's like to lose a child - a piece of you that has grown under your heart and within your body - I don't know what it's like to lose the partner you've chosen to share your life with and have memories and growth with - I don't know what it's like to lose a sibling - a cell compatible bond and the one you share childhood experiences and the shaping of your adultness with - but losing the ones who created you? The one who birthed you from their own body, the ones who nurtured and protected and rejoiced in you? The ones who know who you are, who you were, who you COULD be? I've lost those... I know that pain...and that emptiness...and that really fucking sucks.
Grey's Anatomy didn't break me tonight - it just reminded me where I was already broken. Broken in the way that lets light shine in and illuminate me so that I shine brighter, so that I can shine on someone else who needs some light. I might have buried my face in a blanket and hid for a moment tonight, but tomorrow I will remember to shine in all my broken emptiness and to be a vessel of hope and brilliance that can light the way for someone else.
Thank you Grey's Anatomy. Thank you momma. Thank you daddy. Thank you Mike. I am full of light because of you.
February 3, 2019
January 20, 2019
Girl, everythings gonna be ok
In 1990 I once cried silent fat tears at 1 am while walking around and around and around my cul-de-sac, my newborn child strapped to my front in a baby Bjorn. They dripped off my face and onto her hair. She was a teeny-tiny little girl with dark hair and the most glorious skin, tiny seashell ears, and perfect pink lips. I had no clue what I was doing, but I loved her. She cried loudly, wailing into the dark cold air and thrashing around the way infants do when their bellies are uncomfortable and uncomforted. And I walked, and cried, and walked, and cried, and she cried until she fell asleep. I still remember the helpless way I felt while she cried, and the enormous strength I felt when she finally slept, at peace, curled sweetly into my chest, right on top of my heart.
I wanted to lose hope but I kept hoping anyway.
In 2017 that same baby, now a fully grown adult living on her own 3000 miles away from me, flew those 3000 miles just to hold me while I wailed into the dark, and in the daylight, in uncomforted heartache. She'd previously spent endless hours on the phone with me, anchoring me, centering me, and being my heartbeat.
This is how parenting turns out...so don't lose hope.
In 1996 I cried multiple times over another baby. This one a strapping 9.5lb boy who couldn't be fed enough. Who cried incessantly and insistently. This one a peach of a baby, a chunky weight that wore me out all while I was trying to be a mom to his big sister. His eyes were like planets - huge and dark. He was round and solid and gorgeous, like a warrior angel. I cried, he cried, she cried. For most of 2 years we all cried.
I wanted to give up. But I kept going anyway.
In 2011 that same peach of a baby threw itself at some other "peach" to protect his baby sisters honor at school. Even though he got in trouble, he would do it again. And I would support him again.
In 2012 that same peach of a baby was a 6 foot 2 inch tall teenager who tenderly held his newborn baby brother in his long lanky arms and didn't want to put him down. He went on to, later, be the primary babysitter to his 18 month old baby brother for a year so I could work in the evenings.
In 2017 he showed up, all adult-like with a suitcase and his sweet girlfriend, from an hour away, to stay over on a dark winter weekend with me when I didn't think I could stand another night alone and needed an adult to keep me safe from myself.
This is how parenting turns out...so don't give up.
In 1997 I rarely cried over the sweet little cubbie that joined her siblings. Tiny cub, all dark hair and snow-white skin and hazel eyes as big as the sky... she was an enigma. Different. Quiet. Soft and tender...my littlest bear cub was dragged along everywhere in my busy days and was cheerleader to her big siblings and was the quiet wallflower...until night fell. Two years passed and she was still firmly rooted in MY bed every night...all night... I wondered if she'd ever leave.
I thought I'd lost my will to try. But I kept trying anyway.
In 2016, and 2017, and 2018, and even now... this grown up, employed, self sufficient, bear-cub of mine still visits me at night. Not every night, but somehow it is always when I am the one needing it most. She holds my hand when I cry. She brings me ice cream when I don't even know I need it. She takes my debit card and the grocery list and does the shopping when I am too worn out with working and parenting and stressing and fearing. She makes me laugh until I cry, even when I think I don't have a single laugh in me. She eats everything I cook, even when it's crap, and then does the dishes. She takes care of her baby brother as if she is a parent. She is, literally, my right hand...I mean, she's left handed so....
This is how parenting turns out...so don't lose your will to keep trying.
In 2008 I also lost my marriage, my house, my entire life. But not those 3 babies... not their hearts, not their love, not their connections.
In 2012 I didn't cry for the baby born unexpected and surprisingly in my 40's. I rejoiced. I was glad and proud and enamored. His tears and different-ness didn't phase me in his infancy. I knew what to do, and I knew I could withstand the endless nights and the bellyaches and the co-sleeping.
But it's different now in 2019. He's different. His tears are different. And so are mine.
Yet I won't lose hope. I won't give up. I won't stop trying.
If I remain a single mom for the rest of his life, I will still have his siblings to help me, to be a support, to be my reminders for hope, for effort, for the will power I need. If I never have a two parent "family" to raise this last child in, I will still have a "family"... and my youngest, sweetest, most individual kiddo will still have a family... he will still have someone to turn to, role models to follow, and love to keep him grounded. I don't know if he will be the one to visit me when I am old and incontinent and unable - or if he will be the one with the get away car - or the one with the secret stash of contraband sugar and alcohol - or if he will be the one footing the bill for it all while his siblings do the work; but I know this: I am not alone. Parenting is worth the hard work, the tears, the sleepless nights, the discomfort and exhaustion and sacrifice and self-loss...but it's also worth the discipline and the nagging and the pushing and shoving and modeling and mistakes and forgiveness. Its worth teaching THEM to forgive ME. I make mistakes. Big ones. I screw up. OFTEN. But they forgive me. So maybe I've done something right in this life. Maybe I've done something even more than "right". Maybe I've done something good for this world by not losing hope, not giving up, not losing my will to keep trying.
Maybe everything will be OK after all.
I wanted to lose hope but I kept hoping anyway.
In 2017 that same baby, now a fully grown adult living on her own 3000 miles away from me, flew those 3000 miles just to hold me while I wailed into the dark, and in the daylight, in uncomforted heartache. She'd previously spent endless hours on the phone with me, anchoring me, centering me, and being my heartbeat.
This is how parenting turns out...so don't lose hope.
In 1996 I cried multiple times over another baby. This one a strapping 9.5lb boy who couldn't be fed enough. Who cried incessantly and insistently. This one a peach of a baby, a chunky weight that wore me out all while I was trying to be a mom to his big sister. His eyes were like planets - huge and dark. He was round and solid and gorgeous, like a warrior angel. I cried, he cried, she cried. For most of 2 years we all cried.
I wanted to give up. But I kept going anyway.
In 2011 that same peach of a baby threw itself at some other "peach" to protect his baby sisters honor at school. Even though he got in trouble, he would do it again. And I would support him again.
In 2012 that same peach of a baby was a 6 foot 2 inch tall teenager who tenderly held his newborn baby brother in his long lanky arms and didn't want to put him down. He went on to, later, be the primary babysitter to his 18 month old baby brother for a year so I could work in the evenings.
In 2017 he showed up, all adult-like with a suitcase and his sweet girlfriend, from an hour away, to stay over on a dark winter weekend with me when I didn't think I could stand another night alone and needed an adult to keep me safe from myself.
This is how parenting turns out...so don't give up.
In 1997 I rarely cried over the sweet little cubbie that joined her siblings. Tiny cub, all dark hair and snow-white skin and hazel eyes as big as the sky... she was an enigma. Different. Quiet. Soft and tender...my littlest bear cub was dragged along everywhere in my busy days and was cheerleader to her big siblings and was the quiet wallflower...until night fell. Two years passed and she was still firmly rooted in MY bed every night...all night... I wondered if she'd ever leave.
I thought I'd lost my will to try. But I kept trying anyway.
In 2016, and 2017, and 2018, and even now... this grown up, employed, self sufficient, bear-cub of mine still visits me at night. Not every night, but somehow it is always when I am the one needing it most. She holds my hand when I cry. She brings me ice cream when I don't even know I need it. She takes my debit card and the grocery list and does the shopping when I am too worn out with working and parenting and stressing and fearing. She makes me laugh until I cry, even when I think I don't have a single laugh in me. She eats everything I cook, even when it's crap, and then does the dishes. She takes care of her baby brother as if she is a parent. She is, literally, my right hand...I mean, she's left handed so....
This is how parenting turns out...so don't lose your will to keep trying.
In 2008 I also lost my marriage, my house, my entire life. But not those 3 babies... not their hearts, not their love, not their connections.
But it's different now in 2019. He's different. His tears are different. And so are mine.
Yet I won't lose hope. I won't give up. I won't stop trying.
If I remain a single mom for the rest of his life, I will still have his siblings to help me, to be a support, to be my reminders for hope, for effort, for the will power I need. If I never have a two parent "family" to raise this last child in, I will still have a "family"... and my youngest, sweetest, most individual kiddo will still have a family... he will still have someone to turn to, role models to follow, and love to keep him grounded. I don't know if he will be the one to visit me when I am old and incontinent and unable - or if he will be the one with the get away car - or the one with the secret stash of contraband sugar and alcohol - or if he will be the one footing the bill for it all while his siblings do the work; but I know this: I am not alone. Parenting is worth the hard work, the tears, the sleepless nights, the discomfort and exhaustion and sacrifice and self-loss...but it's also worth the discipline and the nagging and the pushing and shoving and modeling and mistakes and forgiveness. Its worth teaching THEM to forgive ME. I make mistakes. Big ones. I screw up. OFTEN. But they forgive me. So maybe I've done something right in this life. Maybe I've done something even more than "right". Maybe I've done something good for this world by not losing hope, not giving up, not losing my will to keep trying.
Maybe everything will be OK after all.
January 11, 2019
2018 Recap
Once again I'm noting that it's been too long between blog posts.
Once upon a time I had a blog that I posted to daily, that I had followers on, and I was part of a community; a 'village' of souls who wrote and read and cheered each other on. Once upon a time I wrote daily as a way to process life and all the curves and winding roads and darkness and brilliance that it has to offer. Back then I had the time to notice, and then notate, all the noticings. Now I'm lucky if at the end of the day, I get to notice whether or not I've worn the same pants more than 2 days in a row. It always feel so good to come back to writing though, it feels like it centers me and ties up all the loose ends. Sometimes its as if the act of writing creates sense out of all the experiences in any given day.
In March I noted that life was feeling more settled for both Griffin and myself even as I was already anticipating upcoming changes.
In May, I noted that it was going to be a wild ride, that I was "abandoning fear and embracing possibility". I was right about that - it was, and has been, a wild ride since then. Tumultuous, frightening, bumpy, exhilarating! And the friends I've chosen to hold hands with on this journey have proven to be anchors and shorelines and shiny lights in the darker moments. God has put them all into the little niche's of my life that they've needed to be in, at just the right moments.
In July, I noted that life was about being valiant, about being steadfast and balanced and grateful. I alluded to struggles in my new job. It's a work in progress, that whole 'valiant' life thing. *insert ironic chuckle and an eye roll*
As the summer ended I was able to reflect on (but neglected to write about) so many wonderful experiences and moments that I was able to spend with my youngest son, all because of my new job. This time while he is still little sometimes feels so fleeting even when the days sometimes drag on endlessly. This summer allowed us time we needed to have for playing - just playing and adventuring and sharing time with each other and with my youngest daughter too. Family time. This summer was also time just for me. Time to focus on myself - to go out with friends, to dress up and put on perfume and go on a 'date' and be a grown up - because I had the time available with the new job. Precious time. I might have been producing less income and that was scary but I was so endlessly grateful that sometimes all I could repeat, over and over in my mind or under my breath, was, "thank you God, thank you God, thank you God". Money will come, and money will go, but those relationships and the investment of time that I was granted, are irreplaceable.
Then first grade started for G and all that bumpiness and exhilaration, mixed with the need for valiant and steadfast behavior, splashed with gratitude and time, all melted together and we needed to slog thru the days. We were getting into routines and making new ones and sometimes failing and sometimes rising above, with laughter, and tears all together. And then it was the end of October, and nearly headed into winter. G was a first grade boy with two missing teeth who sometimes forgot his lunchbox at school and I was working during the day and at home every evening and life felt...normal. It was a sweet time for me that was only going to get sweeter.
November was all about balance, although that is totally in hindsight! Every Thanksgiving since my divorce has been a struggle to redefine tradition and to create something of value and hope and love for my kids. Funny thing about kids is that they grow and change and leave home and end up creating some traditions of their own! This year we celebrated with a special friend and his children and mine all together. There is an awkwardness to spending a holiday as a guest - food is different, expectations are different, and blending the needs and wants of so many people all at once for a holiday can be hard for everyone, even the kids. This was so peaceful though! We all had such fun with incredible food and desserts, and crazy board games and really getting to know each other. It was an evening that left me feeling immensely thankful. Later in November I was struck hard with the realization that I am pretty alone in this journey right now and it was a painful moment, a little dark spot that reminded me how strong I can be when I have to, and how much gratitude I have for my friends, the help from my older daughter, and my faith. Balance, man... balance!
I never really feel like January is "the new year"... I always feel like the "year" is from the start of the school year and lasts until the next one starts. So January is really just a matter of learning to write the new date properly! Its a continuation of everything we started in September and so we keep plugging along, getting through the days and embracing the forward growth and the learning opportunities as they arise. The dark and dreary parts of winter are settling in now that the big holidays are over and we are a little resigned to the months ahead of cold New England. I'm leaving the job I started last spring that allowed me to work during the day but was unexpectedly not a good fit for me. In my new position, I'll be able to continue working days and will have better opportunity for additional hours and will be able to work with some old friends which brings me so much joy! I am deepening relationships, with myself and with my faith and with others as well, and I continue to try and help my little guy grow into himself and to become the whole person he is destined to be.
Like a lotus flower that blooms again each morning from the murky water, or the sunflower whose bright face follows the sun as it moves across the sky, I will continue trusting in the universe, in God, and in the continuity of balance in my life.
Once upon a time I had a blog that I posted to daily, that I had followers on, and I was part of a community; a 'village' of souls who wrote and read and cheered each other on. Once upon a time I wrote daily as a way to process life and all the curves and winding roads and darkness and brilliance that it has to offer. Back then I had the time to notice, and then notate, all the noticings. Now I'm lucky if at the end of the day, I get to notice whether or not I've worn the same pants more than 2 days in a row. It always feel so good to come back to writing though, it feels like it centers me and ties up all the loose ends. Sometimes its as if the act of writing creates sense out of all the experiences in any given day.
In March I noted that life was feeling more settled for both Griffin and myself even as I was already anticipating upcoming changes.
In May, I noted that it was going to be a wild ride, that I was "abandoning fear and embracing possibility". I was right about that - it was, and has been, a wild ride since then. Tumultuous, frightening, bumpy, exhilarating! And the friends I've chosen to hold hands with on this journey have proven to be anchors and shorelines and shiny lights in the darker moments. God has put them all into the little niche's of my life that they've needed to be in, at just the right moments.
In July, I noted that life was about being valiant, about being steadfast and balanced and grateful. I alluded to struggles in my new job. It's a work in progress, that whole 'valiant' life thing. *insert ironic chuckle and an eye roll*
As the summer ended I was able to reflect on (but neglected to write about) so many wonderful experiences and moments that I was able to spend with my youngest son, all because of my new job. This time while he is still little sometimes feels so fleeting even when the days sometimes drag on endlessly. This summer allowed us time we needed to have for playing - just playing and adventuring and sharing time with each other and with my youngest daughter too. Family time. This summer was also time just for me. Time to focus on myself - to go out with friends, to dress up and put on perfume and go on a 'date' and be a grown up - because I had the time available with the new job. Precious time. I might have been producing less income and that was scary but I was so endlessly grateful that sometimes all I could repeat, over and over in my mind or under my breath, was, "thank you God, thank you God, thank you God". Money will come, and money will go, but those relationships and the investment of time that I was granted, are irreplaceable.
Then first grade started for G and all that bumpiness and exhilaration, mixed with the need for valiant and steadfast behavior, splashed with gratitude and time, all melted together and we needed to slog thru the days. We were getting into routines and making new ones and sometimes failing and sometimes rising above, with laughter, and tears all together. And then it was the end of October, and nearly headed into winter. G was a first grade boy with two missing teeth who sometimes forgot his lunchbox at school and I was working during the day and at home every evening and life felt...normal. It was a sweet time for me that was only going to get sweeter.
November was all about balance, although that is totally in hindsight! Every Thanksgiving since my divorce has been a struggle to redefine tradition and to create something of value and hope and love for my kids. Funny thing about kids is that they grow and change and leave home and end up creating some traditions of their own! This year we celebrated with a special friend and his children and mine all together. There is an awkwardness to spending a holiday as a guest - food is different, expectations are different, and blending the needs and wants of so many people all at once for a holiday can be hard for everyone, even the kids. This was so peaceful though! We all had such fun with incredible food and desserts, and crazy board games and really getting to know each other. It was an evening that left me feeling immensely thankful. Later in November I was struck hard with the realization that I am pretty alone in this journey right now and it was a painful moment, a little dark spot that reminded me how strong I can be when I have to, and how much gratitude I have for my friends, the help from my older daughter, and my faith. Balance, man... balance!
I never really feel like January is "the new year"... I always feel like the "year" is from the start of the school year and lasts until the next one starts. So January is really just a matter of learning to write the new date properly! Its a continuation of everything we started in September and so we keep plugging along, getting through the days and embracing the forward growth and the learning opportunities as they arise. The dark and dreary parts of winter are settling in now that the big holidays are over and we are a little resigned to the months ahead of cold New England. I'm leaving the job I started last spring that allowed me to work during the day but was unexpectedly not a good fit for me. In my new position, I'll be able to continue working days and will have better opportunity for additional hours and will be able to work with some old friends which brings me so much joy! I am deepening relationships, with myself and with my faith and with others as well, and I continue to try and help my little guy grow into himself and to become the whole person he is destined to be.
Like a lotus flower that blooms again each morning from the murky water, or the sunflower whose bright face follows the sun as it moves across the sky, I will continue trusting in the universe, in God, and in the continuity of balance in my life.
November 30, 2018
Alone
On Thursday I try to think, to remember, to mark the moment... I ask myself, “when?”.
He coughs once on Monday. I think. In the afternoon? Maybe?
He coughs... was it twice? Three times? on Tuesday. I only ask myself because there isn’t anyone else to ask. Did I notice it then, or was it Wednesday before it caught my attention.
It’s Wednesday. Is that a wheeze? It simmers in my mind. He was at his dads for the weekend, did he cough then? Does he cough at night and I don’t know? Is he coughing at school? But yes, on Wednesday, he is definitely coughing. But is it WHEEZING? I’m not sure... there isn’t anyone else to listen.
Thursday I think “oh! That is a COUGH!” but it’s just...a little... once in a while. No, not a wheeze. I wonder... Am I making the right call? Should he go to school? Will this get worse? What should I do? I am alone - the only one to make a decision. I ramp up the elderberry syrup and the immune support tonic and I vow to do an early bedtime. After school he is out of sorts. He coughs. I worry. I forget he is supposed to go to his dads so I put him in a hot steamy bubbly bath and serve him an early dinner and make him drink a lot of water. When his dad shows up, I ask him to just come in, stay, play, and let me put the little guy to bed early. He agrees. I feed him too - an act of gratitude for the hassle free situation. I say, “I might keep him home from school tomorrow - I’m just not sure...” He says, “whatever, it’s up to you”. I am so alone in this. “Should I take him to the clinic tomorrow? I hate to pay that co-pay for no reason, but if he’s sick...?”
He says, “whatever...it’s up to you”. I sigh. It’s always up to me.
Every decision is mine. If it’s right - I win. If it’s wrong - I’m at fault. Forever and ever, amen.
It’s Friday. He slept well. Woke up early because his bed was wet. All that water I made him drink. My fault. I help him get dry and warm. He’s cheerful and...coughing. Wheezing with the cough. I put my ear to his chest, listen hard. Listen harder. Put my ear to his back. Listen hard. Listen harder. No wheeze - but that cough sounds...dangerous. And wheezy. He cries. It hurts to cough. Ok then - no school. My choice. Right or wrong, I’m all there is to make the choice so this is it. No school. I’m alone.
And we’ll go to the clinic. We just won’t...buy teacher gifts... because we’ll pay the copay. It’s fine. Is it wrong to hope he’s sick so I can justify the copay?
My god! What is wrong with me!
I’m so bad at this.
We go to the clinic.
Alone. 2 hours. Just me and him.
Doc says, “no fever, lungs sounds clear, but yeah the cough sounds bad so let’s X-ray just in case”. I agree. I could refuse... I could. It’s a choice - is it the right choice? Weigh out the risk/benefit. Alone.
I agree - let’s X-ray. My choice.
Pneumonia.
Right lobe pneumonia.
Antibiotics and nebulizer treatments.
What if I’d sent him to school?
What if I’d refused the X-ray?
What if...
this time I won. I made the right choices.
Alone. Just me.
My fault? My “win”?
Tonight creeps by. I set up the nebulizer and he breathes in the medicated steam. Later he coughs so much he vomits. He cries. He’s scared. He wants to sleep in my bed. I agree to that - but I would have made him do it anyway - I’m the only one to listen for him, to hear him, to be ready to help at 2am so yes, sleep in my bed buddy.
I’m so tired. It’s not that it’s hard, or work, but the worry of it all sucks away my energy like a dementor from Harry Potter. I’m wiped out. I can’t stop tho because... I’m alone. There’s only me. Me and him.
So we lay together, watching Cat In The Hat and with me listening to him cough...and wheeze, and me imagining his pneumonia growing. Alone.
Except I still have to go finish the laundry from his bedding and make up his bed... and find the basin we use for night time vomiting just in case... and do those dishes from dinner... alone.
Sometimes “alone” looks like bubble baths and painting my nails and watching trashy rom-com’s while eating bbq pringles. Sometimes “alone” looks like worry-wrinkles, and dark circles exhaustion, and getting up to refill the humidifier at midnight just moments after you finally fall asleep. Sometime “alone” looks like spending your last $5 on a discount paperback for fun, and sometimes “alone” looks like hoping $20 is enough gas to get to next payday because between clinic copayment and medication, that’s all there is. All the time though, “alone” looks like carrying it all inside and praying God hears you and sees you and somehow still, trusting that He does.
He coughs once on Monday. I think. In the afternoon? Maybe?
He coughs... was it twice? Three times? on Tuesday. I only ask myself because there isn’t anyone else to ask. Did I notice it then, or was it Wednesday before it caught my attention.
It’s Wednesday. Is that a wheeze? It simmers in my mind. He was at his dads for the weekend, did he cough then? Does he cough at night and I don’t know? Is he coughing at school? But yes, on Wednesday, he is definitely coughing. But is it WHEEZING? I’m not sure... there isn’t anyone else to listen.
Thursday I think “oh! That is a COUGH!” but it’s just...a little... once in a while. No, not a wheeze. I wonder... Am I making the right call? Should he go to school? Will this get worse? What should I do? I am alone - the only one to make a decision. I ramp up the elderberry syrup and the immune support tonic and I vow to do an early bedtime. After school he is out of sorts. He coughs. I worry. I forget he is supposed to go to his dads so I put him in a hot steamy bubbly bath and serve him an early dinner and make him drink a lot of water. When his dad shows up, I ask him to just come in, stay, play, and let me put the little guy to bed early. He agrees. I feed him too - an act of gratitude for the hassle free situation. I say, “I might keep him home from school tomorrow - I’m just not sure...” He says, “whatever, it’s up to you”. I am so alone in this. “Should I take him to the clinic tomorrow? I hate to pay that co-pay for no reason, but if he’s sick...?”
He says, “whatever...it’s up to you”. I sigh. It’s always up to me.
Every decision is mine. If it’s right - I win. If it’s wrong - I’m at fault. Forever and ever, amen.
It’s Friday. He slept well. Woke up early because his bed was wet. All that water I made him drink. My fault. I help him get dry and warm. He’s cheerful and...coughing. Wheezing with the cough. I put my ear to his chest, listen hard. Listen harder. Put my ear to his back. Listen hard. Listen harder. No wheeze - but that cough sounds...dangerous. And wheezy. He cries. It hurts to cough. Ok then - no school. My choice. Right or wrong, I’m all there is to make the choice so this is it. No school. I’m alone.
And we’ll go to the clinic. We just won’t...buy teacher gifts... because we’ll pay the copay. It’s fine. Is it wrong to hope he’s sick so I can justify the copay?
My god! What is wrong with me!
I’m so bad at this.
We go to the clinic.
Alone. 2 hours. Just me and him.
Doc says, “no fever, lungs sounds clear, but yeah the cough sounds bad so let’s X-ray just in case”. I agree. I could refuse... I could. It’s a choice - is it the right choice? Weigh out the risk/benefit. Alone.
I agree - let’s X-ray. My choice.
Pneumonia.
Right lobe pneumonia.
Antibiotics and nebulizer treatments.
What if I’d sent him to school?
What if I’d refused the X-ray?
What if...
this time I won. I made the right choices.
Alone. Just me.
My fault? My “win”?
Tonight creeps by. I set up the nebulizer and he breathes in the medicated steam. Later he coughs so much he vomits. He cries. He’s scared. He wants to sleep in my bed. I agree to that - but I would have made him do it anyway - I’m the only one to listen for him, to hear him, to be ready to help at 2am so yes, sleep in my bed buddy.
I’m so tired. It’s not that it’s hard, or work, but the worry of it all sucks away my energy like a dementor from Harry Potter. I’m wiped out. I can’t stop tho because... I’m alone. There’s only me. Me and him.
So we lay together, watching Cat In The Hat and with me listening to him cough...and wheeze, and me imagining his pneumonia growing. Alone.
Except I still have to go finish the laundry from his bedding and make up his bed... and find the basin we use for night time vomiting just in case... and do those dishes from dinner... alone.
Sometimes “alone” looks like bubble baths and painting my nails and watching trashy rom-com’s while eating bbq pringles. Sometimes “alone” looks like worry-wrinkles, and dark circles exhaustion, and getting up to refill the humidifier at midnight just moments after you finally fall asleep. Sometime “alone” looks like spending your last $5 on a discount paperback for fun, and sometimes “alone” looks like hoping $20 is enough gas to get to next payday because between clinic copayment and medication, that’s all there is. All the time though, “alone” looks like carrying it all inside and praying God hears you and sees you and somehow still, trusting that He does.
July 9, 2018
July 2018
Today was... a really, REALLY, shitty day.
I slept restlessly after forcing myself to turn off all electronics, lights, and sound at 10:30 pm, and then was up with the alarm at 3:45 am...because, well, WORK. That is, for all intents and purposes (or: intensive purposes; or: in tents and porpoises; if you are of those natures) a total of 5 hours and 15 minutes of actual sleep. Had I actually SLEPT, if you will. So, I maybe averaged a couple of solid hours somewhere in the middle and towards the end of all that.
When the alarm went off at 3:45 I was almost grateful for the permission to get up and out of bed. I started the day, before my feet hit the ground, thanking the universe for my job, for my physical ability to do it, for my mental ability to do it, for the sleep I got (such that it was) and beseeching the powers that be (yo God! Howya doin'??) to be with me in my day and to also be with my family, and #someonespecial. I did see a glorious sunrise on my drive into work and my heart was full. Cue the dope-slap upside my preshus lil' noggin...bless my heart!
I have a new job. Not news...but I am working a day shift, and a very EARLY day shift that is slightly outside of traditional shift hours: like all the truly imperative back door workers! I mean, do you think the actual doctors just show up at the hospital and then plan out who to operate on, who comes first, who has coverage, or who is first and who is last and who didn't show up and who showed up 2 hours early without insurance? Yeah... not a thing. So. My new job. Early. Important...ish. New skills, new management, new co workers, new...vibe. New...did I mention new management? Sigh.
It was a really, really, really shitty day. Some days are like that. Even in, oh... Canada. I mean, maybe... eh? I cried by 8:30 am; for the first time anyway. Oh Canada... do you cry that early too?
Tonight to soothe myself, I got my nails prettied up (cuz when work starts that early, you get OUT of work early also!) then picked up the babysitter (a very tolerant 13 year old whom I pay a kings ransom to) to relieve my underappreciated almost adult daughter (aka Hannah-the-Hero) and while Gman and Wonder-girl played, I made a trip to the local overpriced grocery store and got the fixin's for a special meal just for myself, and a frozen pizza for the short people. Short-er people. Just sayin'.
I sated myself on mozzarella, fresh basil, and my own homegrown tomatoes slathered in balsamic vinegar and a rich and tasty olive oil; and a deep, rich, velvety red wine blend. I ate and ate and... ate more. I licked my plate: no, really, I literally and actually and definitively "licked" my plate; because I was at home, bra-less, and in bare feet and cut off shorts... I mean, it seemed appropriate. But don't tell anyone cuz it might ruin my pristine image! And while I was at the store buying that mozzarella and the wine, I happened upon a discount florist table. *backstory ensues*
All my years in the past, all 40+++ ahem of them... I have killed, maimed, destroyed, and devastated every known houseplant. I have killed the unkillable. I have caused fatal damage to the hearty, to the tolerant, to the...yea even to the false and silk variety. I am ashamed. However, since my grand move of late to this odd second floor/attic level 2 story apartment, I have managed to not just keep, but cause to THRIVE, a handful of destitute and sad flora and fauna. No, I'm serious, all Orchids aside, it must be the exact placement of my dining room window whereupon a handful of previously decrepit (and now thriving) plantlings sit - because I am actually keeping foliage alive and even watching them GROW.
So tonight, in my despair, while mozzarella and wine purchases were happening, I also purchased a new bit of greenery. It was a slightly disheveled little wilty bit, with a tag declaring it was a "Prayer Plant". How could I resist? It was less than a gallon of milk, less even than the bit of Mozzarella I was splurging on. It was a Prayer Plant... was there any other logical option but "purchase"???
I bought it.
I named it.
It is, thus forth, "Lucy".
Oh right, did I mention we'd recently watched the Chronicles of Narnia? No? oh, huh, well... we did. And so... Lucy, Lucy the Valiant. Lucy, who wants to be beautiful and powerful... and actually IS although she just doesn't know it. So today, to offset the shittiness and general crapola, I am focusing on Lucy the Valiant, my newest resident and bit of joy...and my personal goal.
I am focusing on valiant-cy. Is that a word? I say it should be...valiancy. I will be valiant. I will be quiet and determined (although sometimes weepy!) and I will hold growth and joy in my heart. Well, as often as I can at least! And as I bid this shitty day goodbye, I remain steadfastly secure in my gratitude for my job, and for the side hustle that has me transcribing late into the night, and still asking for protection and blessings on my family and on #someonespecial, and trusting the universe (yo! God! you there?) to provide.
Lucy and I, and Gman and Wonder-girl, and Hannah-the-hero all wish you at least a moment of Valiancy, of truth, of bravery, of beauty and trust and glorious sunrise and tangy balsamic vinegar and sweet home grown tomato...of balance. Go... in peace, with God, in light, and in knowledge you are covered by Lucy's infinite love.
I slept restlessly after forcing myself to turn off all electronics, lights, and sound at 10:30 pm, and then was up with the alarm at 3:45 am...because, well, WORK. That is, for all intents and purposes (or: intensive purposes; or: in tents and porpoises; if you are of those natures) a total of 5 hours and 15 minutes of actual sleep. Had I actually SLEPT, if you will. So, I maybe averaged a couple of solid hours somewhere in the middle and towards the end of all that.
When the alarm went off at 3:45 I was almost grateful for the permission to get up and out of bed. I started the day, before my feet hit the ground, thanking the universe for my job, for my physical ability to do it, for my mental ability to do it, for the sleep I got (such that it was) and beseeching the powers that be (yo God! Howya doin'??) to be with me in my day and to also be with my family, and #someonespecial. I did see a glorious sunrise on my drive into work and my heart was full. Cue the dope-slap upside my preshus lil' noggin...bless my heart!
I have a new job. Not news...but I am working a day shift, and a very EARLY day shift that is slightly outside of traditional shift hours: like all the truly imperative back door workers! I mean, do you think the actual doctors just show up at the hospital and then plan out who to operate on, who comes first, who has coverage, or who is first and who is last and who didn't show up and who showed up 2 hours early without insurance? Yeah... not a thing. So. My new job. Early. Important...ish. New skills, new management, new co workers, new...vibe. New...did I mention new management? Sigh.
It was a really, really, really shitty day. Some days are like that. Even in, oh... Canada. I mean, maybe... eh? I cried by 8:30 am; for the first time anyway. Oh Canada... do you cry that early too?
Tonight to soothe myself, I got my nails prettied up (cuz when work starts that early, you get OUT of work early also!) then picked up the babysitter (a very tolerant 13 year old whom I pay a kings ransom to) to relieve my underappreciated almost adult daughter (aka Hannah-the-Hero) and while Gman and Wonder-girl played, I made a trip to the local overpriced grocery store and got the fixin's for a special meal just for myself, and a frozen pizza for the short people. Short-er people. Just sayin'.
I sated myself on mozzarella, fresh basil, and my own homegrown tomatoes slathered in balsamic vinegar and a rich and tasty olive oil; and a deep, rich, velvety red wine blend. I ate and ate and... ate more. I licked my plate: no, really, I literally and actually and definitively "licked" my plate; because I was at home, bra-less, and in bare feet and cut off shorts... I mean, it seemed appropriate. But don't tell anyone cuz it might ruin my pristine image! And while I was at the store buying that mozzarella and the wine, I happened upon a discount florist table. *backstory ensues*
All my years in the past, all 40+++ ahem of them... I have killed, maimed, destroyed, and devastated every known houseplant. I have killed the unkillable. I have caused fatal damage to the hearty, to the tolerant, to the...yea even to the false and silk variety. I am ashamed. However, since my grand move of late to this odd second floor/attic level 2 story apartment, I have managed to not just keep, but cause to THRIVE, a handful of destitute and sad flora and fauna. No, I'm serious, all Orchids aside, it must be the exact placement of my dining room window whereupon a handful of previously decrepit (and now thriving) plantlings sit - because I am actually keeping foliage alive and even watching them GROW.
So tonight, in my despair, while mozzarella and wine purchases were happening, I also purchased a new bit of greenery. It was a slightly disheveled little wilty bit, with a tag declaring it was a "Prayer Plant". How could I resist? It was less than a gallon of milk, less even than the bit of Mozzarella I was splurging on. It was a Prayer Plant... was there any other logical option but "purchase"???
I bought it.
I named it.
It is, thus forth, "Lucy".
Oh right, did I mention we'd recently watched the Chronicles of Narnia? No? oh, huh, well... we did. And so... Lucy, Lucy the Valiant. Lucy, who wants to be beautiful and powerful... and actually IS although she just doesn't know it. So today, to offset the shittiness and general crapola, I am focusing on Lucy the Valiant, my newest resident and bit of joy...and my personal goal.
I am focusing on valiant-cy. Is that a word? I say it should be...valiancy. I will be valiant. I will be quiet and determined (although sometimes weepy!) and I will hold growth and joy in my heart. Well, as often as I can at least! And as I bid this shitty day goodbye, I remain steadfastly secure in my gratitude for my job, and for the side hustle that has me transcribing late into the night, and still asking for protection and blessings on my family and on #someonespecial, and trusting the universe (yo! God! you there?) to provide.
Lucy and I, and Gman and Wonder-girl, and Hannah-the-hero all wish you at least a moment of Valiancy, of truth, of bravery, of beauty and trust and glorious sunrise and tangy balsamic vinegar and sweet home grown tomato...of balance. Go... in peace, with God, in light, and in knowledge you are covered by Lucy's infinite love.
May 18, 2018
Begin Again...
It has not been quite 2 years since I quit my job, a full time benefited job, to stay at home with a child that needed me. I did it without too much planning or thought; my son had been hurt and traumatized by a trusted adult and he needed saving. So I stepped out in trust and faith in this universe; and in a God I believe loves me and my son. I was a single mom, and yet I quit my job - to save my son.
The unique irony in all of it is that I was the one who needed saving just as much as he did, although I didn't quite know it in the moment. The universe however, in all its wild, weird, and wonderfully wise ways, allowed my son and I to save each other. We were also held, and held well, in the safety of love, friendship, connection, and salvation...and of course a little vacation in Hawaii!
We healed and grew. There were so many lessons about balance and about finding the calm in the center of chaos, and about perseverance and personal strength. Lessons of trust, and in leaning on others, about acceptance and forgiveness and adapting. Some lessons weren't so much fun to learn and I really hoped I wouldn't need a remedial lesson but God and the universe have decided otherwise.
During the first 12 months after I left my job, I pieced together a variety of opportunities for income. Private pay postpartum doula work, some nanny work, and per diem secretary work. I eventually took a regular secretarial position not quite 6 months ago and it's been a quiet relief; but things are turning out a little different than I had planned. Of course!
Working 4 to 5 nights a week leaves very little time to establish regular routines for meals, family time, and working through boundaries and setting traditions into play. Nor does it leave any time to cultivate my own self, something which I've begun to realize is a building block for creating a safe, strong, home. The job has been good for income, and has kept my little man out of childcare and allowed him to stay home with either his big sister or me, but it has become clear that another change is needed for the well being of all of us.
I find myself starting all over again, again. I have to step out again, in complete trust and faith, as I make another major change. My son needs me to be at home with him...again. This time, it's not just him though, it's my older daughter too. I have two children needing me home more, needing me home in the evenings for hot meals and dinner table connections, for story time and family game night. They need me home much more than we need the comfort of extra income. Truth be told? I'm pretty sure the kids I have that no longer live at home might still benefit from me being more available too. This might be saving an entire family all at once. So? So I will be leaving my current job and taking a new one that is less of everything: less income, less hours, less security, less flexibility...but allows me more time at home with the most important people in my life.
It's scary now. It was scary then, almost 2 years ago, but so urgent that fear didn't have a place. However, fear has become a close companion of mine these days. The past 6 months brought me some harder lessons about that and I got a little lost in the darkness of it. Now it feels like fear is consuming my decision making process across all areas of my life. To step outside of the safe place I've managed to create, even when it doesn't feel as safe as it used to, feels dangerous. It is a known safety, such as it is. But now? Now I have to embrace fear all over again, and trust in the unconfirmed intangibles. I am often full of fear and there is little room for trust it seems.
Fear is a very useful tool - it keeps us from repeating mistakes or getting into danger. I've come to put a lot of trust in fear. Then a friend told me that maybe it was time for me to, "consider being open to the possibility that fear doesn't have a place here".
I really dislike it when God and the universe use my friends against me! But I can see that this is a truth I need to own right now. Maybe my fear is not helpful at this time, in this place, and in so many ways. Perhaps my placing my trust in fear is the wrong place for it. I think, next to the lessons of balance that I've been privileged to learn, this lesson of not letting fear take footing where it is not needed is one of the grandest lessons of all.
So now I begin, again. With more balance, and a desire to remain open to possibility, and to get real about the validity of fear.
Hang on. This? This is going to be a wild ride!
The unique irony in all of it is that I was the one who needed saving just as much as he did, although I didn't quite know it in the moment. The universe however, in all its wild, weird, and wonderfully wise ways, allowed my son and I to save each other. We were also held, and held well, in the safety of love, friendship, connection, and salvation...and of course a little vacation in Hawaii!
We healed and grew. There were so many lessons about balance and about finding the calm in the center of chaos, and about perseverance and personal strength. Lessons of trust, and in leaning on others, about acceptance and forgiveness and adapting. Some lessons weren't so much fun to learn and I really hoped I wouldn't need a remedial lesson but God and the universe have decided otherwise.
During the first 12 months after I left my job, I pieced together a variety of opportunities for income. Private pay postpartum doula work, some nanny work, and per diem secretary work. I eventually took a regular secretarial position not quite 6 months ago and it's been a quiet relief; but things are turning out a little different than I had planned. Of course!
Working 4 to 5 nights a week leaves very little time to establish regular routines for meals, family time, and working through boundaries and setting traditions into play. Nor does it leave any time to cultivate my own self, something which I've begun to realize is a building block for creating a safe, strong, home. The job has been good for income, and has kept my little man out of childcare and allowed him to stay home with either his big sister or me, but it has become clear that another change is needed for the well being of all of us.
I find myself starting all over again, again. I have to step out again, in complete trust and faith, as I make another major change. My son needs me to be at home with him...again. This time, it's not just him though, it's my older daughter too. I have two children needing me home more, needing me home in the evenings for hot meals and dinner table connections, for story time and family game night. They need me home much more than we need the comfort of extra income. Truth be told? I'm pretty sure the kids I have that no longer live at home might still benefit from me being more available too. This might be saving an entire family all at once. So? So I will be leaving my current job and taking a new one that is less of everything: less income, less hours, less security, less flexibility...but allows me more time at home with the most important people in my life.
It's scary now. It was scary then, almost 2 years ago, but so urgent that fear didn't have a place. However, fear has become a close companion of mine these days. The past 6 months brought me some harder lessons about that and I got a little lost in the darkness of it. Now it feels like fear is consuming my decision making process across all areas of my life. To step outside of the safe place I've managed to create, even when it doesn't feel as safe as it used to, feels dangerous. It is a known safety, such as it is. But now? Now I have to embrace fear all over again, and trust in the unconfirmed intangibles. I am often full of fear and there is little room for trust it seems.
Fear is a very useful tool - it keeps us from repeating mistakes or getting into danger. I've come to put a lot of trust in fear. Then a friend told me that maybe it was time for me to, "consider being open to the possibility that fear doesn't have a place here".
I really dislike it when God and the universe use my friends against me! But I can see that this is a truth I need to own right now. Maybe my fear is not helpful at this time, in this place, and in so many ways. Perhaps my placing my trust in fear is the wrong place for it. I think, next to the lessons of balance that I've been privileged to learn, this lesson of not letting fear take footing where it is not needed is one of the grandest lessons of all.
So now I begin, again. With more balance, and a desire to remain open to possibility, and to get real about the validity of fear.
Hang on. This? This is going to be a wild ride!
April 1, 2018
Little Glimpses
Right after the new year I went through a challenging time. In a desperate moment, I reached out to my adult kids for connection. My Boston residing 22 year old son came with his sweetheart, no hesitation and no questions asked. They came on the train and stayed over night and we ate, we drank, we talked, we played games, and their compassionate and loving presence generally helped to ground me. My west coast residing 28 year old daughter talked me through weeks of endless nights over the phone, until she was on spring break from school and could fly out and visit. My 19 year old home-girl doled out hugs and amazingly sarcastic one-liners that made me smile even when I thought I never would again. My children became the solid foundation that anchored me and yet they gave me wings all at the same time. It was like parenting came full circle for a time. I saw that I did a pretty good job raising such caring people who know how to show up when showing up matters.
I lay in my bed (heated mattress pad, flannel sheets, down comforter, hello New England spring!) and I listen to the wild giggles pouring from the kitchen. It is music to me, a symphony filling every corner of this apartment with LIFE. My oldest daughter is home for the first time in two and a half years. 2.5. Yes, TWO years and SIX months; probably longer. I stopped counting after awhile... I saw her 15 months ago but it wasn't at 'home' and it was different. Now she is home. Just ask her little sister, or either of her little brothers - this is HOME with Chickadee here, bossing us all around and setting the rules and the limits. It is the BEST thing ever. The giggles of my girls together in the kitchen wash over me and fill up all the empty parts of my heart.
Now she's gone again, back to HER home which is 3000 miles away from my hug. The laughter of all my children together still lingers in my heart and fills it full.
It is Easter. I have celebrated the resurrection of Christ in so many different ways over the past years. I have celebrated with large family gatherings including cousins and board games; joined with friends from church in a pot luck style; eaten with just two of my children, lonely, in a restaurant... this year I even celebrated by being completely alone. It wasn't a bad thing - it was contemplative and restorative. I think that it might be one of the best ways I've spent the holiday, in all its intention, in my adult life. I spent it this way by choice though and maybe its that fact which made this day one of peace for me. It is a kind of peace I've been needing to feel.
The more holidays that I spend as a single adult, the more comfortable I am making choices that best suit ME. It is more in my nature to make everyone else feel happy, especially when I was actively parenting small children and trying to build traditions and memories, but as my children have become adults with all their own wants and choices, it seems easier now to place my own desires ahead of theirs. It makes me a different kind of parent for Griffin; and a better one I think. He'll see a more independent and strong woman as his mom and for him? For him I think that will ultimately serve his needs best as well. Funny how that works out in the end...by putting myself first, I become a better mom for this specific child at this specific time. Balance. Ah, there it is again.
It is spring, in spite of the frigid 30 degree weather and remnants of snow in patches on the ground. We move forward into the light, again, my little sidekick brown eyed boy and I. We move forward and I watch as my adult children do the same. We aren't together always, but we aren't truly alone either. We hold hands and we fall down and we help each other up and we find balance together; sometimes anchoring each other, and sometimes encouraging flight. The light is longer, brighter, and warmer as every day passes. It's good to know the dark days are fading away.
I lay in my bed (heated mattress pad, flannel sheets, down comforter, hello New England spring!) and I listen to the wild giggles pouring from the kitchen. It is music to me, a symphony filling every corner of this apartment with LIFE. My oldest daughter is home for the first time in two and a half years. 2.5. Yes, TWO years and SIX months; probably longer. I stopped counting after awhile... I saw her 15 months ago but it wasn't at 'home' and it was different. Now she is home. Just ask her little sister, or either of her little brothers - this is HOME with Chickadee here, bossing us all around and setting the rules and the limits. It is the BEST thing ever. The giggles of my girls together in the kitchen wash over me and fill up all the empty parts of my heart.
Now she's gone again, back to HER home which is 3000 miles away from my hug. The laughter of all my children together still lingers in my heart and fills it full.
It is Easter. I have celebrated the resurrection of Christ in so many different ways over the past years. I have celebrated with large family gatherings including cousins and board games; joined with friends from church in a pot luck style; eaten with just two of my children, lonely, in a restaurant... this year I even celebrated by being completely alone. It wasn't a bad thing - it was contemplative and restorative. I think that it might be one of the best ways I've spent the holiday, in all its intention, in my adult life. I spent it this way by choice though and maybe its that fact which made this day one of peace for me. It is a kind of peace I've been needing to feel.
The more holidays that I spend as a single adult, the more comfortable I am making choices that best suit ME. It is more in my nature to make everyone else feel happy, especially when I was actively parenting small children and trying to build traditions and memories, but as my children have become adults with all their own wants and choices, it seems easier now to place my own desires ahead of theirs. It makes me a different kind of parent for Griffin; and a better one I think. He'll see a more independent and strong woman as his mom and for him? For him I think that will ultimately serve his needs best as well. Funny how that works out in the end...by putting myself first, I become a better mom for this specific child at this specific time. Balance. Ah, there it is again.
It is spring, in spite of the frigid 30 degree weather and remnants of snow in patches on the ground. We move forward into the light, again, my little sidekick brown eyed boy and I. We move forward and I watch as my adult children do the same. We aren't together always, but we aren't truly alone either. We hold hands and we fall down and we help each other up and we find balance together; sometimes anchoring each other, and sometimes encouraging flight. The light is longer, brighter, and warmer as every day passes. It's good to know the dark days are fading away.
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