May has ended and June has just begun. I'm wrapping up the school year and thinking about the summer ahead. As I do every spring, I cycle through these days as they occurred four years ago. Even though I can't be sure that there even was a moment when it all turned sour, I still look belatedly for the signs of the moment things changed. I mark the lasts of those days and I foolishly ask myself what I could have done to prevent the disaster that would follow.
I don't know what this review of history will accomplish. I know that I can't turn back time or patch things together. And it seems silly to still mourn an ending while spring bursts around me. The growing plants, the flowers, and the lovely fresh green colors all seem so hopeful. I want to grab hold of that promise.
But I can't quite seem to find it. Four years ago, I took refuge in the idea that by now I would have worked through the pain and the sadness and come through to the other side: I am the Mama, hear me roar. I figured that by now I would have built a new life. Not shiny and perfect. But new to me; my version of imperfect perfection. Instead, I have ....... honestly, most days I have no earthly idea what I have. I have the laundry, the grass to cut, classes to teach, the floors to sweep and the bathrooms to clean. I have supper to make. A master calendar to get me to Little League games. Homework to supervise. "Family" events to navigate. At the end of the day, if I can stay awake long enough, I have a few pages of my book to read. Then I swallow a benedryl and crash asleep. A few hours later, I wake up to start it all again.
I do know how incredibly lucky I am. I'm grateful for the good things, especially my boy and my home. But I feel that this life of daily events pales in comparison to my old hopes and dreams, false though they must have been. I am tired of pretending that it's okay. Pretending to be strong. Pretending that someday it will be better. Pretending there is a future to be hopeful about. I'm always pretending. I'd very much like to start believing.
3 comments:
All I have to give is hugs, and the belief that there is reason to be hopeful.
Who are you pretending for?
Healing is hard work, and non-linear (as I am discovering myself, these days)... but I think maybe it helps to have more space in which pretending seems not to be required.
Finding time for yourself and nurturing a relationship amongst all the chores and work stuff and parental duties is nearly impossible. I can't imagine how I would pick up and move on if Colby and I separated. He's a part of me, a part that makes me feel good about myself even when I don't feel great. He's the part that points out my faults but highlights the best of me. He brags about me and bitches about me. I'd lend him to you, but there might be two problems: 1) he's married and 2) he's a guy. In the meantime, love your son and love yourself. Love for someone else will come along.
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