Blessed

Last fall, when I started this blog, a friend called me to express her concerns about it.  She has always been on the lookout for potential destroyers of my heart and saw this as a huge risk.  She was right, it was, and continues to increasingly be, risky.  What neither of us could have known is that, despite the exposure, the risk has payed off in unexpected ways. 

Writing here, unlike writing in my tattered journal, has helped me process years of experiences and nonsense internal narratives.  I am being forced to confront the inconsistencies in myself while being held to a certain amount of accountability by my readers- whomever they may be.  This has made it nearly impossible for me to turn back and get comfortable again in the ridiculous lifestyle of "Egypt".  I am being changed.

You might be relieved to learn that I have not spent the entire last two weeks being angry.  The truth is, after I wrote last, I regretted letting you see that deep into me and nearly deleted the post.  I would have, except for the conversation I had with a reader the next day.  "You just summed up the entire two and a half years of life after my dad died, unexpectedly, my senior year of high school", she said.  Later, another reader sent me a reassuring message.  His grief also resonated with my ugly thoughts and emotions.  He went on to tell me more about his experience.  These conversations are invaluable to me, so I press on. 

For months I've been arguing with myself about whether or not to tell you more of the "everything" I committed to working through.  Mentally, I have written that blog 1,000 times since May.  Yet, each time I sit here to type it, I don't.  I continue to feel that I am at a loss pertaining to a specific experience this past year.  In some ways, I actually feel despair that I can't work the situation to a comfortable, healthy place of understanding in my head and heart simultaneously. 

I'm not sure when, but I plan to tell you about the foolishness of loving someone I "shouldn't".  Until (if) I find those words, I'll tell you about this year's Thanksgiving vacation:

Anger is exhausting.

I threw my fit, asked my "whys", retreated to my bed , sobbed barrels of tears and then, I drove.

Fifteen hours of road noise, kids happily chattering in the background, my iPod on shuffle, and my own noisy thoughts, brought me to my first destination.  I concluded that don't have time or energy to be mad.  I have worked my heart into a place of forgiveness and, if it were possible, I owe an apology or two.  By the time I arrived in Albuquerque my head and heart had shaken hands in a cease-fire agreement, for now, and I was able to enjoy my visit. 

She and I have three decades of friendship experience, most of which have been spent communicating by pen and paper. (It seems that I'll have to take my kids to the Museum of Natural History, past the Atari and Pacman displays, to the room of Ancient History to show my kids a postage stamp...).  She has known my family nearly as long as I have and has such sweet memories of things that I had forgotten or taken for granted.  Lately these kinds of conversations are deeply important to me.  It's funny, although we were surrounded by five of our offspring, most of the time, I didn't feel a day older than ten.  We reminisced and shared perspectives, updated each other on the current state of affairs and then shared plans for the near future... I am so blessed. 
 
Before I left New Mexico I had come full circle.  The "I don't want to do this" mentality of the days and weeks before, was replaced with the understanding that I absolutely don't have to do this, but I need to. I am aware that I have "outs", distractions.  Instead, I am committed to finishing the course and earning my degree. Pain is an excellent teacher and experience is what gives meaning to ideology.

I finished my vacation in northern Arizona.  Three of my five brothers met me there- at Mom and Dad's.  There was a sister-in-law, two nieces and a nephew thrown in the mix, along with my own kids, as well.  I can't define it, exactly, but the visit was different than usual.  "Simplicity" is the only word that describes it.  I have decided:   These people I was assigned to share life with from birth are the exact people I want to do life with when things get tough.  We could not be more different.  We could not be more perfect for each other.

Dad is feeling relatively healthy.  I noticed a few (unacknowledged) pained expressions, from time to time. He occasionally looked tired.  He has changed his diet and, to some extent, his daily routine.  He is softer.  Mom is too.  I have thought a lot about the reality that he (like all of us) is dying.  Sometimes I want the specifics.  Do I have two months, ten years, with my dad?  Ultimately, it doesn't matter.  No one knows, except God- and He's not saying.  For now, I have today and I am blessed...