I typed into the chat bar:
“What’s a word that encompasses feeling mad, sad, longing, tired, grief”
Melancholy.
I put the kids’ bikes on the porch, angry that there are only 2.
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I’ve stopped saying, “I’m sorry.”
Not in the heartfelt, knowing I messed up and seeking to repair, “I’m sorry”
but in the casual way I apologize for taking up space.
We remember moments experienced through a small black box
and we watch the screen as we watch for moments
to capture the scene
freeze the feelings
select the sense of being alive
I’m working on inviting more silence into my life.
My inner world, my outer world.
Put the phone away. Put the book down. Turn off the podcast. Quiet the mind. There are too many things pulling at my attention constantly. For years I have underestimated the power of stillness. Of a nap in the sun. Of the quiet, short moments of gazing into my children’s eyes. I am told in not so many words but certainly in so many ads that I should be doing more, buying more, trying more.
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Over the next several months, I watched in amazement as new leaves sprouted, shiny and green and healthy. The bush grew twice its size, and when I saw multiple flower buds I just about teared up as I realized the power of this example as a metaphor for life:
Pruning is essential in personal growth.
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Resilience is the ability to adapt to change, cope with challenges, and bounce back from setbacks. It is a key skill that can help us to navigate the ups and downs of life with grace and strength. However, it’s not something that we are born with. It’s a skill that can be developed and strengthened over time.
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Everything reminds me of her. I looked desperately for signs of her in the first weeks after her death, and now the reminders close in on me and suddenly I’m frozen in place at Target, with an urge to find a cute new top for Anni. No place for that urge to go, except in hot tears down my face.
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From my bed this morning hearing them sorting the gifts that were freshly placed last night, knowing they’re doing their own tally to make sure it’s all even and fair.
I also have been shopping for urns. Looking for the perfect ceramic container for Anni’s ashes. Pages and pages of options in the catalog from the morgue, and endless websites and none of them feels like Anni, and this is the worst type of shopping and also feels sacred.
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She didn’t fight
She danced.
A guide
A mentor
A light
A quiet acceptance of the surgeries and doctor appointments and feeding tube and seizures
A smile on the hardest days
She entered the world “I’m here”
And exited the world “I’m not”
I was kicking up dust, navigating rocks and tree roots, sweating puddles into my tank top. I was hiking to a lake and was pushing myself to keep up a good pace. I passed several people, always with a cheery on your left or beautiful day, isn’t it? Then I passed a woman who said to her hiking buddy, “What a showoff!”
I laughed out loud and kept going, her comment rolling around in my mind.
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Sometimes I hesitate to share what I believe because my beliefs are subject to change with new information.
The more I evaluate my statement above, the more ludicrous it is that I feel any sense of shame for changing beliefs. And then I remember that I was taught from a young age to be proud that I was privy to divine knowledge, the secrets of the human condition, the one and only truth, and then it makes sense why I hesitate to share my shifting, flexible beliefs.
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What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
But what if I don’t want to be stronger?
What if stronger sounds
impenetrable
independent
intact
What if I want the hard things in life
to make me soft
I was having a conversation recently with a woman who works for a national non-profit that assists families impacted by MPS (the type of disease Anni has), and she asked me this question:
“What makes the difference between someone who does amazing things in the world, and someone who can’t get out of bed?”
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Do not let it harden you.
Do not let their words, their stares, their judgment, their whispers, be bricks to create an impenetrable wall around your heart.
Stay soft. Stay flexible. Stay open. Stay vulnerable.
It will be hard at times. You may feel many stings. You will hesitate to trust again. You may open yourself to others, slowly, and find that they were not safe to share your beautiful heart.
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Left, right.
Black, white.
They tell us we live in the land of either/or.
If you’re against this, you’re for that
If you say yes to them, you say no to us.
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I don’t really watch the news.
I wonder how many other people feel the heaviness of being attached to traumatic events of the world. Maybe we think we don’t have permission to look away. Maybe we think we’re being irresponsible if we don’t know what’s happening around the globe.
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I was 13 or 14 when I first saw porn.
My best friend and I were planning our big Saturday fun and she said she wanted to walk to a boy’s house who I didn’t know at all, but her boyfriend did and he was already there. We walked fairly far to his house and shortly after I met him, we all went into his bedroom and he put a tape in his VHS player.
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For many years, I didn’t realize I was feeling sorry for myself. Externally I touted positivity, surrender, and looking at the bright side, but didn’t really understand that in a deep part of me, I still viewed myself as a victim of many of my circumstances.
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When we have unhealthy introspective patterns, change cannot happen. We get stuck in a cycle of negativity, shame, or flat-out ignoring ourselves. We get stuck because unless there is truth without shaming, there’s no real way for us to move forward or bump ourselves out of the ruts.
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Truth is, I wanted to lean out the window myself. I wanted to reach out and try to grab a leaf off the trees. I wanted to wave and shout to the people standing by the tracks. I wanted to turn my face toward the rain and catch drops in my mouth.
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