An End

Last night I dreamt our house was sinking. Every time I looked out the window I saw the earth around our house swallow up more and more of our home and everything in it.

Peter and I were scrambling trying to get our two kids and four animals out of the house before it was swallowed completely. It seemed impossible to get all of our family together and no one would leave without the others (which was kind of sweet but also infuriating and troubling).

I woke just before the house was swallowed completely.

Here is the completely unsurprising dream interpretation of a house is sinking into the earth:

To dream that you or something is sinking suggests that you are feeling overwhelmed. Someone or something is pulling your down. Alternatively, the dream means that some important and significant stage in your life may be coming to an end. 

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For those who have followed my journey, you know the story. For those who have not, my mother was a bright, funny, spirited, woman with so so many dreams. She achieved several of those dreams. And she did so while not getting support and help for her pretty significant mental illness.

However, she found a way to numb the pain and began self medicating with drugs and alcohol about 20 years ago. We have not seen each other in 8 years. She died at 65 of complications resulting from alcoholism.

These past 2 weeks I have felt flooded much of the time--so many thoughts and feelings that I can't tease them apart or think them through. Flitting in and out or sinking deep into my bones, these thoughts and feelings are pulling at me as if being tossed by a wave....wave after wave after wave...

And, the rest of life doesn't stop. There are still children and pets, with their own crises and needs and lives. And there is still a pandemic and we still are living in this altered state. There is much to wade through in the turbulent flood and I am chest high.

I am processing this significant stage of my life coming to an end and will be for as long as it takes. This week we are preparing for my mother's virtual memorial. Watching old videos and looking through her writings and pictures have been both painful and healing. I hope the memorial we are planning brings others who have loved her some catharsis. Creating it certainly has.

Joy in the midst of sadness

I derive so much joy from my children. They are a constant source of laughter and delight. I feel such gratitude for them. I feel honored to be their mother, to be able to shepherd them through their childhoods, to be the one whose arms they run to when they are hurt or scared or sad. It is a tremendous blessing, the good and the bad. But there are days when I am just sad and down and I have at times struggled with these days in how to best parent through it.

On exhausted days I remind myself that there will come a day when my kids are older that I long for R (my one year old) wanting to crawl into my lap continually and bring me a "boo" (book). Or for L (my 5 year old) to have a seemingly endless list of questions about stars and the solar system while upside down on the couch and kicking his legs around. They will likely not be doing this same thing when they are 18 and 14 or even 9 and 5. I want to appreciate it in the moment, while it is happening, really soak it up and let it feed my soul. But, and isn't this always the kicker, it is exactly at those moments when you have been home with your kids for 5 continuous snow days that you feel like a crazy person who needs just a moment of silence with her body to herself. Yet, here comes R with another "boo" and there is L with repeated and increasingly loud questions about the Sun.

When I fall short in moments like this, when I do not react with loving warmth and patience, I have, in the recent past, been hard on myself. When I say, "No R, not now," Or "L, enough with the questions for now. You need to find something quiet to do," I feel that I will kick myself down the road for this missed opportunity to connect with my children in a mutually enriching way.

So steeped am I in healing from my own childhood that I sometimes forget what it is to be healthy.

Being healthy is not about never showing that you are tired or sad. Being healthy is not about denying those feelings and faking it. Being healthy is not about white knuckling it. Being healthy does not exclude sad feelings, tired or overwhelmed moments. And my children can see me in those moments.

It is okay. It is good even. Because then they see me recover. They see me need a moment of silence, and then seek them out to read a book. They see me need to have my body to myself and 10 minutes later be ready to wrestle and tickle them on the floor. They see me rise and fall in healthy rhythms throughout my days.

Talking about these rhythms and needs with my son have even helped him identify his own needs for space and quiet times in the midst of over stimulation. So fearful am I of my mother's very erratic and scary ups and downs that I have tried to negate all signs of somber and tired moods. But I am not my mother and my kids are not me. They continue to fearlessly run around not worried that I am going to explode. Because I don't. I do lots of things, but I do not turn on them. I am predictable, even in my sad moments. They do not look at me with cautious fear when I feel sad.

And even in the midst of my sad day I find unspeakable joy in this.