I wonder as I speak consolation to a grieving woman, how did I get to this point? I am at the end of my fourth decade and already have 27 years of parent-loss under my belt and 42 years of caregiving. Surely, I can retire now with full benefits? I am told that "isn't a thing" as teenagers would say. I am not allowed to stop doing what I have done for so long. I just have to keep doing it as long as I live.
I speak of the binary of loving someone so wonderful as a parent recently (or not so recently) lost and the excruciating pain of missing them with every breath. I think of the dissonance of knowing that the striated muscles of my face are incapable of controlling the steady leaking of tears that run out of brimming eyes at the sadness that I see in fall pictures, two brothers walking together in the distance or a green tree behind a soon to be bare one. And I wonder at the swag I have on the basis of having done all this when I was 21. Of being left to fend for many, including myself.
My son explained some economic concepts to me yesterday on a short walk through Main Street where he used big words kindly to share his learning about how the actions of some affect the lives of others. I hear ya, kid.
And as I watch the flurries swirling this Saturday morning, I acknowledge the many parts of me that are jostling for attention in this busy life. I will get to you, I promise.
Until then, there's a fridge to clean, a plumber to call, a roofer to chase, marking to complete, transition plans to write.
I guess it is good, this busy-ness. It leaves less time to wallow. And even less time to bawl. I know that if I chose to do that, it would scare the kids and everyone else.
I am the Elder, I just have to lace up those winter boots and keep on walking.
No comments:
Post a Comment