Day 159: The things I'm learning

The important stuff first...mom will have her stomach drained again this Friday, the 28th (Michael's 37th birthday). I imagine no where in my mom's head could she have known this is where she would be 37 years after she gave birth to her son. Of course, with all the drama after Michael's birth, I'm sure she wasn't thinking of much else anyway. I suppose it's a good thing we can't see our futures.

The past few days have been a bit overwhelming. I'm trying to get curriculum ordered for the boys' school year and am working with a whole new program which is confusing. I'm starting school in 6 days and my textbooks are staring me in the face reminding me. I've got a client who is currently 2 days overdue. I'm spearheading a new Lego League group for Christopher (why did I decide to take that on???) I've been waiting to find out when mom would be getting her stomach drained and hoping that my client would have her baby soon so I could be sure to be there. Olly's grandma is dying from lung cancer and he may likely disappear here soon to drive to California at a moment's notice. And then this morning I woke up to the sound of Jonathan throwing up.

When I heard him throw up, my brain literally said, "NO WAY!" There is no way I can take anymore. Stop! Now!

I told Olly last night that my head felt like a pinball machine. Things just bouncing back and forth. Stuff to get done. Stuff to figure out. Who would watch the boys overnight if I had to be at a birth while he's gone? What happens if I'm birthing when mom is getting her stomach drained? Too many variables. Too much to do. Too little time. It was as though the pinball just kept bouncing and bouncing around and I couldn't settle my mind to actually handle or take care of anything.

Then this morning and Jonathan throwing up. Immediately I thought, "Now what do I do?". I can't go up and see mom with Jonathan throwing up. I can't risk getting her sick.

And for a moment I crumbled.

And then I pulled it together. And I put it back in God's hands. I gave it all back. My God and I have had an interesting relationship for the past 20 years (if not my entire life). There was a period of time that I didn't believe in a higher power at all. I do now. But this is still a journey for me. Nonetheless...someone has been speaking to me for the past several months. This someone has been guiding my path, has been picking me up when I didn't think I could stand, and has caught my tears.

I'm a cynic. I often wonder if we find our higher power when we are at our lowest because we need that hope. We need to believe that our life has a meaning and getting up every day is worth the effort. We need to believe there is more than our suffering. So, in all honesty, I don't know if that's what I'm doing. But I do believe I'm being protected right now. And probably have been my entire life. I just was never at a place where I could see it before.

I've mentioned this book I'm reading, "Being with Dying". I've been reading it a lot lately and highlighting things I want to remember. One of the first things I highlighted was all the way back on page 5 where it said that St. John of the Cross recognized that "suffering can be fortunate because, without it, there is no possibility for maturation".

I would have to say that my suffering has certainly matured me.

Another paragraph later in the book says, "Suffering usually pushes us onto the spiritual path. Often it takes an accident, a catastrophic diagnosis, a disaster, or great loss for us to break open. Then, when we begin to explore the truth of suffering, we often find within each poison the nectar of wisdom, kindness, and love. But we must first discard the belief that we can make our suffering go away. Instead, we learn to stay with it. Then we become curious about it. This is a fundamental change of attitude: we accept our suffering and determine to help ourselves by investigating its cause. We are forced to lie down in what the poet Yeats called "the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart." This is where most of us begin our journey home - among the rags and bones of our tender and awful brokenness."

And lastly, although there are many more things I'm gaining from this book, it says, "An old joke goes, 'Religion is for people who are afraid of hell; spirituality is for people who have been through hell.'"

So much of all of that resonates with me. My mom's illness has transformed me in many ways. And much of that transformation has been good. I find it fascinating that through the hell I often feel like I'm living in, I am growing and learning and changing.

I am coming to terms with the fact that I will live the rest of my life without my mom on this earth. I don't like it. I hate it actually. There are tears in my eyes as I type these words. But I can't pretend it isn't happening. And in a sense I've been given a gift of time to start to come to terms with it. Don't get me wrong. I have TONS of work left to do and most of that will be done after mom is gone. I certainly still have moments where I need to pull the car over to the side of the road because I can't see through the tears that came out of nowhere, brought on by a song on the radio or a thought that fleetingly has made it's way through my head. And believe me when I say that I am no where near ready for my mom to die. Not even close.

But somewhere, I am growing and letting go.

This morning after my mini crumble, I spoke to my God and said, "I'm giving it back to you. I trust you and I believe that things will work out as they should." Now that doesn't mean I haven't had my up and down moments today. But...as of right now, my childcare gal has told me that she is more than happy to come in the middle of the night (granted, I'd be paying her more, but still, she's there if I need her). And Kiersten has informed me she is available on Friday to back me up with mom if I'm birthing. AND....that she can be my "official" back up even while she's working as she just needs a couple hours notice and can get a sub in place and head out.

I let it go and it all fell into place.

Let me assure you, that doesn't come easily or naturally for me. But I'm learning. Because I have to now. I know I can't control things but it's in my nature to do so. One of my friends recently called me an "overachiever". I've never considered myself to be an overachiever. I kind of feel like I work really hard just to stay in the same place. But I suppose I can see her point.

Now, I will still be very disappointed, if, for some reason, I can't be with mom on Friday. I made her a promise I would always be with her when she was in the hospital. At the same time, I work an unpredictable job and there is the potential that, through no fault of my own, I may not be able to keep that promise. Just as I promise all my clients that I will do my very best to be at their birth, life sometimes happens. That's why I have back up Doulas. So, I got myself a back up daughter...sort of...since she really is her daughter (in-law) anyway! :-)

For years people have told me that things always work out. And for years I thought everyone else was crazy.

I'm learning. And starting to believe. There's still a lot of work to be done. But I'm taking baby steps and they're leading me down the right path.

I know I said no more quotes from the book, but I need to include one more. It is a paragraph that really emphasizes my whole point of this blog post.

"Some years ago, walking across the Himalayas, I realized I would never make it over those mountains unless I let go of everything extra. That meant I had to lighten up my mind as well as my overloaded day pack. It all came down to one simple sentence. Nothing extra! Just as these two legs carried me across mountains, those same words carry me through complicated days. They always remind me to let go. They also remind me of the weightlessness and and ease of a whole and dedicated heart."

Or in the words of a very wise woman, by whom I was raised,

"What will be, will be."

I fought those words for most of my life. But as it tends to come down to in life...

Mom is always right.