Pushing Past

 Lately, everything is overwhelming. 

Not exactly a COVD thing, but that doesn't help.

Whatever is on my mind at any given moment looms large, especially at 3 am. And it could be a work thing, or a kid health thing, or the advocacy stuff (always begging the question in the back of my mind whether I am doing enough for my own kids....) Struggling with weird politics on the daily (weekends are a sweet reprieve, but then everything else crowded out during my here and now during the week crowds in on the weekend.  It's kind of like a fugue of trauma.) This is the next frontier of righting my head, since the FOO stuff is for all intents and purposes in the rear view mirror. 

It all could have been much worse.  I could have cashed in my chips decades ago. I would have missed out on a lot of good things. 

But, challenges, always challenges. Some days I feel like I can conquer it all, and other days, I'd rather build a blanket fort and stay there. 

So I cook. Today we had spanikopita from St Sophia's for brunch and tonight I cooked a couple meals for the next few days. The house smells good. And reminds me that there are lots of things I can do well. 

I struck a deal with elder to deal with the health stuff. God speed. I hope it works. 

Showing up

 I had a funeral to attend this week. I balked at taking personal time; when I saw how much time I had banked, I was ashamed of the balk. 

As I was getting ready, elder came downstairs, early for him. Seeing as he had an empty dance card (and seeing how much this empty dance card is eating at him), I told him he was coming. Dad looked at me and scowled "COVD...."

Something snapped. "I KNOW!  And he needs to get out of the house, so maybe it's time to split the difference!"

"But I don't know her," Nic piped in from the other room. "Also, no elevators."

"You don't need to know her; you're not there for her," I replied. "You are there for the living. And it's important to show up." I glance meaningfully at dad. "Obligation."

So he comes with me. He's silent with his headphones on and I am silent in the silence of the car. Thinking about a lot of things. We talk about the family tree his cousins are working on as we near our destination.

We park in the back, near an entrance we've never been. Turns out there is an elevator, after all. 

Inside, we see no one we know. BIL shows up about 3 minutes ahead of show time. I text him our coordinates. He turns, scans, spies us, waves us up.

A ton of emotions to wade through throughout the the service. Nic quietly takes it all in. It's not his first rodeo, but it's the first he's been to since childhood. He makes eye contact with his cousins. They smize at him. 

We head out after. Talk about many things. Especially the importance of showing up. 

He learned one big thing.

Is someone going to clean that up?

 Yesterday got off to an inauspicious start. Note that accidents happen, but many can be avoided. 

For example, pancake batter. I thought what was in the fridge was flour to be used up. I promised younger that we would make pancakes, and as we assembled ingredients, the aforementioned flour came out.

As G was mixing, he said "Mom? What are these black spots?"

I was busy cleaning up the overflowing toilet by the mudroom, so a little distracted, cursing the clogger for not putting our handy DO NOT USE sign up as a warning for hazardous waste dissemination. "Probably nothing," I called back while I mopped up the mess.  I washed my hands and headed back over, where G was wrinkling his nose in puzzlement.  He poured out some batter and readied the chocolate chips. I tasted the batter, then hastily scooped up what he laid down. 

Because the flour was batter coating for meat.  Want some garlic with your chips?

The whole time I'm fulminating, younger is reminding me "Worse things happen in a day, mom."

My mantra. Being thrown at me by my younger. 

And I thought he didn't listen.

I toss the mess out; we clean up and start over. 

When he is settled into the next batch, I go back to finish decontamination operations in the mudroom. As is increasingly common these days, I am thrown sideways in time. It's the mid 1970s, and one of my younger siblings is sick. She's thrown up Cambell's vegetable soup all over the pea green carpet, somehow missing the pail next to the bed altogether.  My mom's out; my other siblings make gagging noises and somehow I am elected to clean it up.

I remember thinking I don't know how to do this, but I'll do my best.  I stop breathing through my nose.  I sop up the worst of the mess with a towel. Then I scrub with soap and water. Then I dry that up off the carpet the best I can with another towel. 

I was all of 8 or 9.  I remember being rather proud of my effort.

My mom seemed irritated when I told her about it later. I was surprised, because I had expected at least a thank you.

"But," I said, "No one else was going to do it. So I did it."

"Somebody had to," was all she replied. And that was the end of it. 

This is the fault line, so to speak. Just one instance in a long line of moments like them. 

Why not me?  Because who else?

For better or for worse, a life is defined by such moments. 

Grief

 It's been a week. 

Elder turning 21 hit me harder than I expected.

His ongoing health matters weigh on me. 

A cherished colleague said goodbye today.

I'm just feeling beaten up by all the things.

I left a little after 5 to take a drive. I cranked John Coltrane's A Love Supreme as I headed northwest, avoiding the main roads and opting for the countryside. Subdivisions gave way to open fields in the twilight. Hawks roosted high, looking for dinner before nightfall. The snow gleamed white in the hills, making the darkness brighter as I went.

At my destination, old friends greeted me, and the light and warmth of one of my favorite places revived me. I felt my step lighten.  I settled and headed back home a different way, but no less scenic. I felt less heavy. Even the Jazz sounded brighter as I headed home. 

And, heading back a different way, I happened upon a little town near us festooned with lights, like Christmas.  It took my breath away, with the snow on the ground and people walking the streets, almost as if everything were back to 'normal', life pre-pandemic. It was less than a year ago hubby and I had our last "date," an overnight at a Bed and Breakfast and dinner out--and it feels like it was decades ago. 

I'm glad to be home. And I'm glad there's still a world out there. 

Everything, everything

 Sometimes the weight of it all is more than I can bear.

I arrived home from dropping younger yesterday at school to hubby on the phone, apparently negotiating a doctor visit for elder.  He was rubbing his brow, "tomorrow?  7:30?  AM? Next open appointment is March what?"

Oh, yes, the follow up with elder's neuro opthamalogist, to check on the pseudotumor, because weight, because here we are again. I waved at him and he looked over. "I'll take him," I said.  He did a double take.

"I'll take him," I repeated, thinking great, need to get him up so we can get out the door by 6:30, Philly traffic, the sure kill, University City traffic, parking......fuck....."I'll take him."

I set an alarm, something I never do. Coffee, shower, stick my head in his room and rouse him (head in pillow case as always, I have no idea how he sleeps like that)

In the car, waiting, waiting, waiting...finally appears at 6:40 and I lost 10 minutes according to Google in the commute into town. I carry on like a crazy person, pretty much the whole way there.  I want to drop him off. No, he wants to come up with me, he doesn't care if he's late, he can't go up alone....

I finally park and am beside myself. He insists I double back and lock up the car. I literally can't think. He steers me to where we need to go, route through the lobby, up the escalator, up another elevator.....

...revealing the lie--he can, in fact, do it himself. 

Yesterday, he learned humility. He forgot about a meeting scheduled, and the person he stood up had some words about that. He was furious, and quickly revealed that the fury was at himself. I coached him "BE SORRY," I said. "YOU WERE WRONG. OWN IT."

He sure did. I overheard the ensuing conversation after he left an apologetic email and sent an apologetic text.  There is room for Grace.

I'm thinking on this as I sat in the atrium, waiting for him to be seen, put through his paces. Finally the nurse calls me back, I have a happy reunion with his Dr (who we first met at CHOP) and no pseudotumor at this time, although his liver is at risk and we need to deal with the weight (yes, I know, but I can't do that for him.). He gives me his email address and tells me to contact him any time. 

Back in the car, hi-jinks home (only one crazy aggressive driver, so that was a step up). He slept, I just think on all of it.  He turned 21 on Sunday. Because COVD and no friends, I threw up the bat signal to make it as special as I could. A lot of my friends sent cards, and the drive by I planned got snowed out with a re-set this Saturday (he doesn't know).

He's 21. I have an adult child. Who will likely be with me forever. 

I'm feeling it all.