If I could throw myself to the ground and toss my sippy cup and bang my head, hard, onto the concrete- all the while wailing and rolling around, I would. If I could kick someone, hard, in the shins and run away as fast as possible, I would. If I could beat my tiny fists against someone's broad chest and kick at the air until I ran out of steam, I would. If I could lay my head on someone's shoulder and sob until they tucked me into my crib for the night- with my soft footy pajamas, I would.
But, I'm a big girl, with no sippy cup, no soft footy pajamas, no broad chest to beat, no shoulder to sob on, no shins to kick and a headache that wouldn't find relief slamming the ground. There's no security within the four slatted walls of a crib and really, I'm all out of steam anyway.
Today, I'm afraid. I physically hurt in chambers of my heart I never new existed. I found that breathing too deeply released tears at stupid times today. I'm angry. I want to pick a fight with someone, anyone. (You'll be relieved to know, I didn't, mostly because I chose the "safe bet" to pick at today, and got no response.) I want to make the people who have most recently devastated me, hurt the very same way. Yes, I am immature and ridiculous, embarrassing even. What I really want is just to be held, to be reassured that it will all be okay.
"It" won't be okay. None of it.
I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to DO this. I don't want to do THIS.
Most of them are stuffers, my familial heritage, that is. When situations are complicated, emotionally speaking, the family handbook prescribes an ignore-it-it'll-go-away remedy. However, I'm only a recessive carrier of that gene, an anomaly. I need direct. I need a plan. I need "why" to be understood. I'm irritated that I'm so different. In some ways I feel like I don't belong. I can't find comfort in coping the way most of them do.
I am more alone than ever.
Last week I took the pre-planned trip back to Arkansas; my third visit since April. The timing of the trip could not have been more perfectly orchestrated, actually. My grandmother had just had heart surgery and was about to be released from the hospital. The trip was planned before Dad's diagnosis. My dad had told his mother about his cancer, but spared her details, concerned for her own health. In some ways, I spent the week reassuring her of what I'm not convinced myself. She seemed naive about the entire situation until the day she point-blank asked me: "Do you know where they plan to bury your dad? Is there a nice cemetery near their home?"
I DON'T want to do this. I don't think his mom does either.
The other parts of the week were sweet. And bitter. Grandma told me about her fighting depression since grandpa died in April. She told me she clings to the happy times, of which she had dozens of stories. She is writing a book. I told her I'd try to help her. Who wouldn't want to hear about my 83 year old, semi-driving, itty-bitty grandma who "used-to-could" do just about anything? This woman has a plethora of one-liners.
She assured me several times that she knows, very well, some of what I'm going through and that she understands how hard my daily life is. I believed her because she willingly shared a few of her own experiences along with a few regrets and heartaches.
I found myself deeply loving and appreciating this woman in ways I didn't think possible only six months ago. I found a little of myself in her and I found myself feeling very sad. And mad. And fighting emotions and doubts and hurt and frustration and years of confusion. And then I found myself, on the return plane, coming to a place of acceptance without understanding. I hated leaving, wondering if I'd see her again. There are so many places I need to be and only one of me and never enough time or resources...
If I had the energy, I'd tell you about the other pressures I can't quite escape. I will say that if I'm being honest, at the end of the day fear, doubt, distrust, loneliness and the physical sensations of grief are ruling my heart.
What I feared has come upon me;
what I dreaded has happened to me.
what I dreaded has happened to me.
I have no peace, no quietness;
I have no rest, but only turmoil.”
I have no rest, but only turmoil.”
~Job 3:25,26
Will someone please send me to my room?
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