Struggling through with joy... |
kind of.
Struggling through with joy... |
Yesterday when I was struggling through my intermediate power yoga video in our sun room, my daughter barfed all over the dining area of our home. I heard odd coughing noises coming from the living room and hopped out of my downward dog, yelling, “Ruby, are you ok?”
“Mommy, I think I’m going to…” and then, well. She did. My husband remarked later that I handled the whole thing better than usual, which is to say I didn’t handle it well, but I was less hysterical than usual. Instead of screaming and running away from her, I screamed for my husband, briefly hid in the sun room, then reassured her across her lake of puke before her daddy carried her off to the shower. I set to work cleaning it up with shaky hands. I might have peed my pants a little from anxiety, but I managed. I knew this difficult time was headed our way. Everything had been going too well: I’m less stressed than usual because my student teacher is taking over; I’ve had time to grade papers and plan small groups well; time to think about big ideas, time to read, and time to bake cookies. I’m doing better reaching my personal and professional goals. The whole house was moderately clean and we all had clean socks and underwear in our dresser drawers. The kids are doing well in school and had been mostly illness free for one whole month. Then, yesterday my son woke up with a fever, stomachache and headache and here we are. All good things come to end, a bad end. My father (probably accidentally) drummed this idea into my head from a young age. Nothing good can last. When I was a kid we’d just returned from a great vacation fishing and exploring in the mountains to discover my grandpa had suffered a devastating heart attack, and my dad said, “That’s the way it is. Things were too good to last.” Whenever my life is even the slightest bit good, which it usually is, I am crouched and ready for the next bad thing to attack. In addition to believing doom is always around the bend, I also hold fast to the belief that maybe I don’t deserve all these good things in my life. Why do I get the warm and sometimes clean home and good husband and job I love? Why do I get such extraordinary if sometimes frustrating and invasive children? Why do I get the comfort of financial security and a supportive extended family? I love my in-laws, for God’s sake. My mom and I are incredibly close and enjoy just being together. My stinky old chihuahua is one of the nice ones who doesn’t bite, she only nips, and only occasionally. I don’t deserve these things any more than the next person. The last Thanksgiving my father was alive we all got rotavirus. It was violent and horrible and does not need to be detailed. It sucked. But I remember so many good things from that last Thanksgiving. I remember how relieved I was to be with my family when I was sick because I lived alone at the time. I remember my older brother checking on me through the night, his big hand patting my head as if I was a kid instead of his adult sister. I remember learning my sister-in-law shared my phobia of vomit, finding it comforting that I’m not the only one in the family with that brand of crazy. I remember how beautiful my nephew was, the first baby in our family, his huge blue eyes and his giggle when my mom and I bathed him. I remember my dad hiding his sickness so he could taste the homemade stuffing my brother made for Thanksgiving, which was weird and gross on my father’s part but also how he expressed his love, through the sharing and appreciation of food. Even when said food was going to be immediately and secretly expelled. Years of meditation and prayer have deepened my understanding of good things coming to an end. Of course they will, because they do. The bad times come to an end too. Right now, my kids seem a little bit better. They have eaten a little bread and water here in mom’s illness prison and it’s staying in their tummies for now. They’ve read some books and are playing video games while it snows outside. They're clamoring to listen to KidzBop. I feel like today might be one of the crappier days, but it will end. It probably won’t be entirely crappy, either, just as that last Thanksgiving with my dad wasn’t entirely horrible in spite of our illness. My dad was right, but he was wrong too. I’m working on prying the habit of doom thinking out of my thought patterns. Everything good will end, but the bad will end too. I don’t deserve this good life more than anyone else, but I can soak up the tremendous love and good fortune that surrounds me and share it in the small ways I know how. Which, for today, means a lot of time on the couch with my healing kids, allowing extra tv time and reading books and coloring, learning how to be a better mother when my kids have stomach bugs. This bad time will end, too, and good times are just around the corner.
1 Comment
Alex
3/1/2023 08:54:29 am
It sounds like despite the doomsday fear, you live a grateful life and search for the positive. I lol-ed at this: "I handled the whole thing better than usual, which is to say I didn’t handle it well".
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