Maybe The Earth Is Flat
For the past eight months, I haven't been myself.
Winter was consumed with the grind of daily trips to Youngstown with Dad, to be with Mom. Every day was an act of penance, going through the motions of normal life, without much "normal life" going on. Her dying days were unlike anything I had ever experienced.
Dinner was sometimes lunch meat sandwiches at 10 o'clock at night. I slept, ate, prayed, and rode the roller coaster of fear, hope, dread, sadness, and desperation.
My hand was forced when I wanted anything but my hand to be forced. When Dad was too blinded by his will for Mom to "pull through", it came down to me to make the decision that has entrapped me with guilt and self doubt. Yes, I made that decision.
I can't shake it off. Sometimes I think of her on her deathbed, and literally begin to violently sob.
Spring came, and everything about it should have been welcome. I wanted to feel something, but all I felt was weary. The days flew by so fast, and then it was summer.
Summer is my favorite time of year. I love to swim, to kayak, to sit out on the porch, and take walks. All year long, I so look forward to those long warm days, days at the beach, trips to other places.
Alas. I haven't swam or kayaked, I haven't travelled anywhere, no porch time. Anxiety and melancholy accompany me everywhere. I mostly want to sleep, to get lost in a movie or TV. I eat to quiet the sadness.
John was on vacation this past week, and I mostly stayed inside my cocoon--my house--where I could sit, mechanically perusing Netflix and Hulu. I would tell myself that I should get up and work, or exercise, or get outside. But, the fight in me has been seriously injured. It's been buried beneath apathy and depression. When John asked me if I'd like to take a slow walk around Lake Julia, I shrugged, and began to cry. It's like I'm watching a movie, and I am one of the characters. I don't understand what's wrong with that character, and why she is behaving so strangely.
It's almost too difficult to do the most basic of things. I consider it a productive day if I do the minimum amount to keep my life moving forward. More often than not, I want to curl up in a fetal position and ignore everything.
I have become the number one person in my father's life. I wouldn't have it any other way, I love and cherish Dad. It's just difficult to step up to the plate and be the one that he leans on. He was so much more independent when Mom was alive. My father is a different man than I have known for my entire life. This is in no way a complaint, it's just...hard.
Since Mom left, the world's beauty hasn't changed, but my view of it has. There is a layer of dust over my soul's eyes, impacting my ability to see that beauty. I know the world is a sphere, but everything in it feels so...flat.
When Dorothy returned from the colorful world of Oz, Kansas was a dismal gray place. My world was colorful, lively, meaningful. Because I am surrounded by love, my world still has color and meaning, but it's obscured by my grief. Some moments feel like dismal, gray Kansas. Mom was a light that shone deep into my soul. Her light has moved to another place, and I can't bear the loss.
I still have joy, and lots of it. I have a husband who listens to me cry, who holds my hand, and treats me with kid gloves. His kindness and patience are incredible.
My children are like rays of sunshine--they delight me with their smiles, texts, phone calls, and hugs. Like the tiny flecks of sunlight that wink at us through tree branches, joy has stirred in my heart throughout the days and weeks since this sorrow began. I cannot complain that everything is a desert.
I know God is with me; He has been my strength and my hope. I must confess there are times when He feels so far away. I even flirt with doubt on occasion--doubt in His presence, His love, His aid. But, those instances don't define my faith, they test it.
Sometimes my mind wanders to dark memories, I have suppressed them with good reason. At this point in time, I am still unable to immerse myself in those memories. When I allow myself to ponder these thoughts, I break out in a terrible panic, accompanied by heartrending bawling. Will there come a day when I will finally make peace with those things?
I have loved deeply; I have paid the price. It is a steep price, a wound to my very essence, but I would never change a thing. My heart will remain injured until I am once again in the presence of my darling mama.
Winter was consumed with the grind of daily trips to Youngstown with Dad, to be with Mom. Every day was an act of penance, going through the motions of normal life, without much "normal life" going on. Her dying days were unlike anything I had ever experienced.
Dinner was sometimes lunch meat sandwiches at 10 o'clock at night. I slept, ate, prayed, and rode the roller coaster of fear, hope, dread, sadness, and desperation.
My hand was forced when I wanted anything but my hand to be forced. When Dad was too blinded by his will for Mom to "pull through", it came down to me to make the decision that has entrapped me with guilt and self doubt. Yes, I made that decision.
I can't shake it off. Sometimes I think of her on her deathbed, and literally begin to violently sob.
Spring came, and everything about it should have been welcome. I wanted to feel something, but all I felt was weary. The days flew by so fast, and then it was summer.
Summer is my favorite time of year. I love to swim, to kayak, to sit out on the porch, and take walks. All year long, I so look forward to those long warm days, days at the beach, trips to other places.
Alas. I haven't swam or kayaked, I haven't travelled anywhere, no porch time. Anxiety and melancholy accompany me everywhere. I mostly want to sleep, to get lost in a movie or TV. I eat to quiet the sadness.
John was on vacation this past week, and I mostly stayed inside my cocoon--my house--where I could sit, mechanically perusing Netflix and Hulu. I would tell myself that I should get up and work, or exercise, or get outside. But, the fight in me has been seriously injured. It's been buried beneath apathy and depression. When John asked me if I'd like to take a slow walk around Lake Julia, I shrugged, and began to cry. It's like I'm watching a movie, and I am one of the characters. I don't understand what's wrong with that character, and why she is behaving so strangely.
It's almost too difficult to do the most basic of things. I consider it a productive day if I do the minimum amount to keep my life moving forward. More often than not, I want to curl up in a fetal position and ignore everything.
I have become the number one person in my father's life. I wouldn't have it any other way, I love and cherish Dad. It's just difficult to step up to the plate and be the one that he leans on. He was so much more independent when Mom was alive. My father is a different man than I have known for my entire life. This is in no way a complaint, it's just...hard.
Since Mom left, the world's beauty hasn't changed, but my view of it has. There is a layer of dust over my soul's eyes, impacting my ability to see that beauty. I know the world is a sphere, but everything in it feels so...flat.
When Dorothy returned from the colorful world of Oz, Kansas was a dismal gray place. My world was colorful, lively, meaningful. Because I am surrounded by love, my world still has color and meaning, but it's obscured by my grief. Some moments feel like dismal, gray Kansas. Mom was a light that shone deep into my soul. Her light has moved to another place, and I can't bear the loss.
I still have joy, and lots of it. I have a husband who listens to me cry, who holds my hand, and treats me with kid gloves. His kindness and patience are incredible.
My children are like rays of sunshine--they delight me with their smiles, texts, phone calls, and hugs. Like the tiny flecks of sunlight that wink at us through tree branches, joy has stirred in my heart throughout the days and weeks since this sorrow began. I cannot complain that everything is a desert.
I know God is with me; He has been my strength and my hope. I must confess there are times when He feels so far away. I even flirt with doubt on occasion--doubt in His presence, His love, His aid. But, those instances don't define my faith, they test it.
Sometimes my mind wanders to dark memories, I have suppressed them with good reason. At this point in time, I am still unable to immerse myself in those memories. When I allow myself to ponder these thoughts, I break out in a terrible panic, accompanied by heartrending bawling. Will there come a day when I will finally make peace with those things?
I have loved deeply; I have paid the price. It is a steep price, a wound to my very essence, but I would never change a thing. My heart will remain injured until I am once again in the presence of my darling mama.
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