Broken Things

On the way out the door this morning, I broke my water bottle.

I was juggling my coffee cup, water tumbler, lunch, computer bag and pocketbook in an attempt to make a single trip to the car, and I somehow lost a grip on the water bottle. I heard it crack as it hit. The bottle is hard plastic, been dropped a million times, but I think this time, it just hit the wrong place on the bottle, and caught a corner of the step. G received this bottle as a parting gift from Montco, among other things, and I was happy to use it, because of all the good things connected with that experience.

So when I went to retrieve it, and saw that it was cracked, my eyes welled up with tears.

Because it was more than being about the water bottle—and this led to a chain-reaction of revelations that spiraled a little bit, splashing across my current class regarding theories of learning frameworks, philosophical arguments with my younger son about the train table divestiture, and my own meditations on hoarding and why we hold onto broken things.

We hold onto things because it’s our only tangible proof that good things happened, that good people exist, and because of these things there are reasons to hope for the future.

I think this is part of the reason why I have such a hard time going through my sons’ old artwork and school work, because there is so much bad mixed in with everything that is good that it puts me in an existential crisis every. Damn. Time. 

I know some of those reasons for hanging onto broken things, too, are generational strongholds; want, depression, war, hanging on to things because they may have use or value.

Or hanging onto things because they are the only things remaining of someone who is gone.

There is so much we store in our hearts, but we need physical proof.  There are things that have left that we want back, but aren’t coming back.

But here is this broken thing that is proof that it existed.

This Dear Mess

 So the last little while has taken on an elegiac cast for me. Part of me has accepted my mortality and that any given time could be a last time, and having said that, while being fully cognizant of the shitstorm happening around me, I will do all the good I can do when I can do it, and no one is going to steal my joy in doing it.

The enormity of it all weighs on me, not the least of which is a paper due tonight at 11:59.  I’m writing this partly to get my fingers moving, and partly because I have a lot to say about little things that happened that I want to remember. 

Like taking my younger kid thrifting and finding lots of treasures.

Like throwing darts with my crew Friday nights.

Like having a spring peeper land on my head while hiking in the dark.

Like spending time with my cohort.

Like spending time with hubby and the kids, doing anything. Doing nothing.  Together.

Like watching my birds do a preen because they feel safe.

Like chatting with my sisters over group text.

Like all the time spent with all the good people in my life, for whatever time we can find together enjoying each other’s company.

As I stood in the middle of my living room one quiet morning this week, taking in all the piles of books, papers, general lived-in-ness (I am being kind, I guess), I was overwhelmed by a huge sense of how transitory this all is, how momentary everything is, our situations, our lives, everything.  In the end, all we have is this dear mess that is our collective life.

Do good when you can, where you can, how you can. It all matters. In the end, it may be all that matters.

Rebellion

 I’m no longer postponing joy. Or anything, really.

My whole life has been spent relegating things to “later…another time… not right now.” Some of it is thanks to waiting for other things to happen first, and some of it has been waiting on other people (who never show up because I think we’ve had that conversation, and we haven’t), and some of it has been my own fears and insecurities about bad stuff that would happen if…

Three years ago and change I made a start of doing new things because I wasn’t getting any younger. I’ve built on that by pushing through my discomfort, reaching out, connecting—my life as N and G’s mom set the stage for everything that’s happening now.

Once, I might have pulled back, withdrew, hid.  Not now. 

Connection, action, JOY. This all happens NOW.

I’m no longer putting things off. And joy is everywhere. And nobody takes that away from me.

It’s yours, too. You only need eyes to see it.

Holding Space, Grace

 Not going to lie, Elder makes me insane six ways to Sunday.

Even so, his life is a master class in what grace looks like. Tonight, I picked him up from work; the original plan was I would take him to our church for ashes later in the evening. I came up with a different idea as I drove to pick him up.

I proposed another church—one he knew, and more importantly, had an elevator. He didn’t need convincing: that became the plan. He found us a parking spot and didn’t balk at the walk that came with it. We arrived late to a packed church and found places to stand in the back. I became aware of someone looking our way. Elder whispered the who and rejoined “I want to say hi after.” 

He looked at me carefully. “I have feelings about this,” I muttered back. He stared at me. “Mom, I’m asking you.”

I harrumphed. I’ve written plenty about the folks who have ill-used and/or ill-treated elder over the years, and one of them fell in that camp. I’d sooner see them burn in hell than put on a face.

“Mom,” elder reiterated, “I am asking you.”

Well, fuck. It’s not like he doesn’t know why I feel what I feel; we’ve discussed it ad nauseum. He wants to go say hello, and as far as he’s concerned, we’re a unit, and he’s not doing the thing without me.

Also? We’re in church. 

What am I always saying about walking the walk?

So. We do the thing. He’s happy. It doesn’t kill me.

As crazy as he makes me, he has a heart that is huge, full of grace, forgiveness, and mercy.

He can teach me a thing or two.

Embracing All the Wins

In light of all the insanity, sturm and drang and what may be the end of everything, I want to shine a light on all that is good.  Elder hit the quarter century mark over the weekend, much to his own surprise; adventures with his family ensued, culminating with an Eagles Superbowl win. He couldn’t ask for more than that.

The other big thing that happened last week was that he was finally named Employee of the Month.  Roughly eight years in the making, he actively sought and received feedback from his peers and supervisors to help him improve his skills. But more than this, he has been persistent enough, and fortunate enough, to have his supervisors and coworkers in his corner these last nine years to support, coach, and encourage him. When we parents were taught all about the importance of natural supports, the love and support of people in the workplace, this was treated as an aspirational, if not achievable thing. After all, this means people taking extra time and energy to support, coach, and encourage, and as many people living this particular dream can attest, it is freaking HARD to find this kind of environment, unless people intentionally create and nurture it.

Once upon a time, my teenager knew exactly what he wanted to do: work the front desk checking people in at his favorite place.  Although he was offered jobs in housekeeping and childcare, he persisted. He knew what he wanted, and he wouldn’t settle for less. He took the volunteer position doing what he wanted to do, and proved himself worthy of paid employment. And while there have been stumbles and false starts in this world of work, he continues to learn and grow and make his mark.

Meanwhile, my younger guy, Mr Huggable, stopped me last night and hugged me a long time. If I wondered whether the bigger picture was impacting him, that was my confirmation.

Whatever happens, I know we gave them the best lives possible. We controlled the things we had control over. The rest now is up to whatever the future holds.

Love wins

I’m not rehashing the last 12 days. I’m just not. There’s nothing I can add there.

But I will add something that is uniquely me, because I am the only person who can. I’m deep into this last first in this year of firsts since my mom passed away last February 3. Monday marks the first last with her first yahrzeit. I can’t think of anything that has unfolded in the last couple of weeks without remembering that she did not want to be here for it. Remembrance comes with a fresh wave of grief for everything—including the fact that my young men come of age as marked men.

This morning as I poured myself coffee, I noticed a heart emerging from the foam. And I find myself remembering a passage from Maxine Hong Kingston’sThe Woman Warrior, where Fa Mu Lan takes her father’s place in battle. My mom was the prayer warrior. 

Right now, I am doing everything I know how to do, but she is reminding me there is more I can do.

Full Speed

 Standing at the precipice of another….semester, year, life….

Today is the last day before the next semester. Hubby and I jammed in a packed weekend of socializing and birding before the next go around. I finished last semester with a3.85, which is almost a full point better than I expected.

I’m in it now. In it to win it.