My Person

At forty –five I thought I’d have more things figured out.  I am not so naïve, or rather self indulged, to think I’d have it all figured out, but I expected that the things I know for certain would vastly outnumber the things I don’t.  And I’m not talking about book facts, or the theoretical or practical understanding of subjects, but rather those inherent truths that we assimilate about the world as we live longer and longer.  I’m talking about the depth and breadth of understanding that comes from experiences and relationships that inform, shape and sustain us.  I’m talking about the knowledge that serves as foundation, compass and sanctuary.  The things that define and empower us: the bedrock of our beliefs and the balm of our existence.

I thought, at what is more than likely past the midway point of my life God willing, that I would have more conviction for who I am, what I know to be true and how I fit in this world.  I am a woman.  A wife and mother.  A daughter, daughter-in-law, an older sister and sister-in-law.  I am a niece, an aunt and a friend.  I am an employee and a neighbor.  These are roles I have fulfilled for many years, and a few for all my life, and yet I often feel like I’m still learning the very basics, which is a tad surreal and a bit panic inducing. 

Relationships are complicated.  Dynamic.  Two-sided.  And also difficult for these very same reasons. I throw my hands up thinking this shouldn't be so much work or this shouldn't be so hard.  But then I feel silly because we all know that nothing good is free or easy. When I'm feeling the disconnect, which I am in a few principal relationships, it really effects me because I care. Does that mean that the other participant doesn't care?  No, but I am seeing things from one side: my side. My side that evolves with my changing mood, my sensitivities and my selective memory.  What I pray for is a good old fashioned come to Jesus because I'm a fixer.  And I've had an epiphany: I'm not as adept a communicator as I once thought and also that many of the people in my life are worse than I am even before the effects of rampant social media and impersonal devices as medium.

It's times like these that I find myself missing my Mom more than usual.  She was my fixer.  Our relationship wasn't perfect.  She did things that frustrated me and I did things that disappointed her, but we always accepted one another right where we were for exactly who we were.  We always knew where we stood too. We talked about everything.  Everyday.  Multiple times a day.  We argued and sometimes said not the right thing or hurtful things, but we always knew it was just our fiery tempers. We didn't tiptoe around one another or stuff feelings or ever feel OK when we hurt or slighted one another.

I feel at such a loss.  She was my person.  She's gone.  I'm alone.  I'm without that person I could always return to for unconditional love and understanding and a few laughs too.