“Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” ~A.A. Milne, Christopher Robin to Pooh
Yesterday afternoon as we were driving in the rain to pick up my car from the service department, I felt my stomach begin to roil. Did I need to stop at a bathroom, despite the intense traffic, or would this pass?
I had been without a car for over a week as they attempted to diagnose an issue.
We’ve been battling with our insurance company and the roofing company over a hail damage claim for six months, and it still isn’t resolved.
Last Saturday, when I visited my mother at her assisted living facility, I ended up having to get her into the shower because she had soiled herself.
The election results have gnashed my soft heart.
Tomorrow I’m attending a memorial service for a young woman whose parents are dear friends.
I told a friend that I feel as though the universe keeps piling on stone after stone, one at a time, making it hard for me to breathe.
Am I collapsing into a pit of hysterical tears? What keeps me from falling apart?
Breathing.
My pragmatic, almost zen-like husband.
Music. Moving. Mediation.
Morning coffee.
My journal.
Friends.
All calming. All steadying.
My car was fixed with a substantial bill that I am grateful we can afford. My drive home was a rain-soaked slog, but I only flipped off one driver and cussed out two others. My husband picked up a pizza. I poured myself a glass of red wine.
The insurance battle is still ongoing, but it will be resolved.
Helping my mother shower was what I had to do. After I got her in clean clothes and urged her to lie down, I scrubbed the bathroom and called the staff to wash her sheets. I was humbled as I stifled my gag reflex, but am grateful I was there to help her. And yes, I took a long, hot shower when I got home. I understand self-care.
Coming to terms with the elections will be an on-going journey for the next few years. I will channel peace. I will not allow the poison to infiltrate my consciousness. My heart may be aching, but it is still beating. And even though I’m not in AA, I will whisper their prayer:
Grant me the serenity to Accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference.
Humans have curated rituals to guide us through life. The rituals surrounding death are sad but necessary. It is what we do. We cry. We comfort. We mourn lost dreams, plans, promises. We show up for one another.
Next week we fly to California for our grandson’s baptism, another ritual, but one that celebrates a new life with prayers to protect and love.
This is the path we all walk. Big things. Little things. Hard things. Joyous things.
Life things.
(Text from a friend as I was finishing this piece:)
Hugs to you!