Dreaming into reality

 So the ancestors aren’t going to let me go.

A ton of inflection points these last 3 months surrounded my first semester in 3 decades. I’ve ugly cried at least a half dozen times and said I was done at least twice that.

But I’m not allowed to be done; not until I do whatever it is I am meant to do.

Earlier in the semester, I spun my wheels over a segment of a project for the better part of a week until my piece came together, literally all of a piece, in my dreams. And that presentation was a slam dunk.

So this morning when I was half awake, my final project for one class laid itself out for me. I’m sketching it out and it is taking shape. And dovetailing nicely with my final paper in the other class.

I will finish, and whatever will be, will be.

I have some things to say

 I’m feeling some things, so here we go:

My kids say they have dinner handled. They are almost 25 and 21,  so whatever that looks like, it’s theirs. I’m eating a salad because it makes me happy.

I really don’t know how this semester is going to pan out. I don’t care. I will show up and do the work.

I have done all I know how to do. Some things are phasing out, but that’s okay. It’s not quitting if it’s not serving you.

I’m grateful for the stuff that’s going right. And the people that make it happen.

Mom saw this coming

My mom called herself an ostrich; she said she stuck her head in the sand at the first sign of trouble. In the months before she died, she expressed her fears about climate change and this election. I think she had an idea of how bad it was going to get, because she was intentional about her exit from this world.

She was done, so she allowed it when pneumonia took over.

I find myself grieving and mourning in fragments over different things; I feel overwhelmingly sad that she died alone, even though she was in her favorite place in her favorite chair. My niece made up her bed, because the unfinished business was disturbing. Before all this mom mourned the departure of her health, never quite right after COVD, her back causing her pain. When she came out to my car last December with a cane, my heart stopped. Mom was officially old, and the clock was ticking.

That’s the last time elder saw her, well, alive.

So I’m sitting here grieving a bit before getting down to business on my final projects for the semester. Part of me wonders what’s the point, and the other part of me tells me to get ready, there’s work to do.

Mom didn’t want to be here for it, but I am, and the only way is through.