Be Still

Entering a season of memories...Last Thanksgiving was the beginning of the spiral towards Jan 2. Stepping into the holiday realizing I purposely keep myself in motion so I won't have to think. Hosting 17 family members all with different social comfort and anxiety levels followed by a two week host and entertain stint with the in-laws...all good memories, all good distractions. Hands and mind so flurried that I didn't realize the loss until Dad crossed the threshold without her. Like U2 without Bono, the room seemed full and empty at the same time. I keep expecting her to appear...she was so unassuming...just quietly appearing...meek yet powerful.  No words to describe her. I sidled up beside Dad to reintroduce him to the crowd as he usually bee lines to my comfy corner chair and begins his nap. This time, he participated. My hand on his shoulder, I take a good long look at him...he has aged....maybe shrunk an inch or two...then I see it. Amidst my inner flurry, my soul still for a split second...enough to see the faintest quiver of his chin. He's struggling, too. He disappears upstairs, laying for a moment in Cole's bed, regrouping but saying it's his nerves from driving. He returns later to help with a puzzle and never heads for that comfy corner chair.

 

Days later, a 90^th birthday for Tim's grandmother...25 aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered to celebrate yet

her mind so loose from Alzheimers it seemed mildly overwhelming. It was nice to take a backseat to this festivity. More for us than for her....what stories that mind could once share. Now among faces she no longer recognizes, she appeases us thru dinner, opening of presents, and a few snapshots but is adamant about being ready to leave. Father-in-law leads his exhausted mother to the car as we offer our goodbyes. While others hug and offer final chats, I'm feeling led to follow Wayne as he places his mother onto the seat. She's cumbersome, sliding too far on the seat for the seatbelt to reach, he envelopes her to reach the belt, but her head nestles gently onto his shoulder. And then it happens... I am blessed with the most touching moment...he stops and lets her rest on him, cooing gentle words in her ear. The two of them are motionless for what seems a sweet eternity. Feeling like the luckiest girl in the lot, my eyes swelling with tears, the seatbelt snaps and the moment ends.

Realizing that I'm keeping myself busier than required to avoid deep thoughts...However, when I'm most still, I'm able to witness magical moments. Taking this first year of memories day by precious day...not wishing it away, being intentional with my time, my words, my memories. Having to constantly remind myself that when the flurry rises, I will be still.

Challenge - Week Four - The Wall

Productive, manic, empty best describe my week. Most days I felt tired down to my soul. Constantly yawning, yet early to bed, even Tim has noticed I'm off. Those days with extra energy, I frantically attacked every task...riding the wave before it would crash. Trying to be as productive as possible...vigorously cleaning, making long lists, purging clutter, trying to find some semblance of order.

Then I hit the wall.

Wednesday, there was no joy to be found. Exhausted, no desire to smile, no bliss found even in the things that typically bring me happiness. Just blah. Wondering if these long months of sadness for Mom has made me forget what it feels like to be consistently happy? Did I not leave any space for mourning? Keeping myself busy, busy, busy so I won't have to feel? Busily redecorating my surroundings in hopes it will also stir my soul? Tim practically had to pry the vacuum out of my hand and suggest I take a long, hot bath. Friends suspicious when I say I'm doing just fine. I actually said I don't think about her.

What I can't fix, I clean. When I can't control, I cook. My to-do list lengthens by the second and my mental queue spins wildly. Afraid to start crying for fear I won't stop.

Today, I will leave time to be still. Just listen. Breathe. Cry if I must, showing myself some grace. This, too, shall pass. But when it passes, what will remain?