November 12, 2013

Auto-Pilot.

That's what I'm on these days.

My goal is to stay in the moment.

Not project to the darker days

that are surely ahead.

Wild thoughts tempt my emotions,

the pleading of my heart ringing in my ears:

"I'm not ready. Please. I'm not ready."

Quickly, I dismiss those thoughts--

banish them from my present. 

My presence.

I will live for today.

Work is good.

Staying busy is good for the soul.

I've cleaned out closets.

The fridge in the garage that has needed it

for so so so long.

I fight the urge to toss out everything that requires

more energy to hold onto,

to care for,

than I want to expend.

I fight the urge to want to control my world

in ways that are unhealthy.

Does anyone understand this?

A friend came by last night;

she said she "admires the way" I am handling my life.

Using words like "example" and "inspiration".

I told her I am completely clueless and totally winging this--

I can't see how I'd be an example to anyone.

There are scenes playing out in my head all day long--

from running far far away in any direction

as though I outrun the coming dread,

to curling up in a ball,

or wrapping my arms around my son so tight

that death cannot take him away

because of sheer willpower and mother-love.

Example?

of what?

a hot mess.

This place I'm in demands answers.

I feel them come in those fight-or-flight moments.

A calm warmth settles on my shoulders.

A blissful thought whispers and suddenly

I am me again.

I see things clearly

comforting

peacefully.

The world slows down.

I quiet my Self.

The wild fears that crowd my mind

leave without a fuss.

I mentally plan a funeral--

who will sing "I'll Walk With You"

and who will sing "I Know That My Redeemer Lives"...

Dean's favorite songs.

Who will tell Dean's story?

I have to get his Special Olympic medals out...

he has had some remarkable accomplishments in his life.

No college, no marriage or career...but still.

He's lived and been successful with what he came with!

I look over old photo albums and see his face with different eyes.

Does this even make sense?

How pre-mature are these feelings?

How ready do I need to be?

I feel guilty even having these thoughts.

I purposefully slow down.

I will not get out old photos again,

not while he's still here.

Will I regret that?

I will not think about a funeral for the next hour.

If I'm not, will someone else come help me when it's time?

I will think about spending time with Dean.

I will think about Thanksgiving and Christmas and Nana's homecoming.

Do I need to call a grief counsellor for me, for my children?

When do I do that? Is it too soon? I am grieving already, so maybe it's not too soon?

How are we going to get through this?

I pray for clarity.

I pray for peace.

I search my husband's eyes for answers--

he's lost both parents and a dear older brother.

He rarely speaks of how he dealt with those losses.

I need him to tell me how on earth I am going to do this

very hard thing.

But the words don't come.

I don't wanna know. really. I don't want to know. 

I know the "why" this is happening.

I understand that.

But. BUT.

Today, I will be grateful.

I will speak to my boy and listen to his voice and make plans to see him later.

And he will hold my nose and say, "I love you, Mom."

I will touch his nose with my finger, "I love you, Deano. Always."

We'll smile at each other with our knowing smiles and see into each other's eyes

the secret we both know...

that time is running out and the next chapter is a page away.