Life

I got up early to take a walk in the chilly morning air. The crescent moon was still high in the sky when I set off. When I was in the home stretch, the fiery orange sun was rising in the east. It looked like I could walk straight over the horizon and be swallowed up in its brilliance. I thought about that for a moment...it was just that cold.

I was alone with my thoughts. I was alone with my tears. Tears brought on by the new songs uploaded last night to my MP3 player. Alone except for a rascally red squirrel spotted walking the high wire, and woodpeckers and morning doves heard, but not seen. I was listening to an Alicia Keyes' album that I have had forever and probably listened to once. Those bluesy love ballads were shuffled with Watermark’s joy to Jesus, soulful songs. That is an album that I have had for ever and listened to over and over for it gives me the gifts of joy and peace. It reminds me of my Mom jumping to Jesus, hence the tears. Gone, but never forgotten.

It wasn't lost on me that the random order of the songs seemed anything, but coincidence. It was as if each song was a chapter in the story of my life...a well-known narration unfolding. Of course, I chose each song and when I try, I can make any ballad fit my life, but it was really more than that. It was as if I was listening to some of these songs for the first time...or more like, hearing them. Probably because I am usually singing on the top of my lungs and they are background music.

I haven't felt much like singing this week. This has been an incredibly difficult few days for me. I have felt disconnected, numb, so desperately lonely and like I really wanted and needed my Mom. I really haven’t felt much and I think this has every thing to do with my denial over the coming, celebrating and passing of St. Paddy’s day without my Mom to stick a shamrock on my cheek and share a green beer with.

The fanfare over the weekend was all fine and good on the surface. And fun was had during our plan filled weekend, but come the 17th I just couldn't shake the gloom. Sure I put shamrock tattoos on both mine and my daughter's cheeks (my son is already too cool), and I did what I needed to do, but that was all I could do. When we came home from our morning at school, I just wanted to curl up on the couch and check out. It may have been a beautiful 74 degree “summer” day at the tail end of winter, but I just couldn't bring myself to feel or engage in any joy or any sadness either. I felt like nothing more than a programmed robot, a mechanical automaton, a lifeless drone.

Yesterday, I unthawed a wee bit. I forced a few smiles. I allowed myself to have a little fun. Dare I say…I felt a hint of hope? It was a better day.

Today the tears came. They always seem to first find their way to the surface on days like today when I am drying my hair. Looking in the mirror, I saw my Mom in my reflection. I cried through my one-sided conversation with her. I drove along the lake to work today thinking the change of scenery would be refreshing. When I was already at the point of no return, it dawned on me that I was only taking a walk down memory lane driving our old car pooling route alone through our once familiar stomping grounds. The tears found their way to the surface once again and I was most thankful for my wrap around Oakleys.

The noteworthy thing is that warming up and letting the feelings flow, helped me to feel better…to come out the other side. I guess I am learning that even grief has its ebbs and flows like all of life. I have to take it as it comes…not resist it. It is something I must embrace. It is healthier to feel sadness than to feel nothing at all.

Today the sadness is just an undercurrent to the pulsing hope I have that today is a new and better day.