I have been brooding. Mulling. Ruminating. Meditating. Longing. Cringing. Reaching out. Holding breath. Extending the proverbial olive branch. Waiting. Retreating. Drawing lines in the sand. And letting go.
I’ve played out this ritual vis-a-vis two situations in my life and lives touching my own recently. Doing so required me to find in myself what felt right and follow it, despite the potential costs (costs being inevitable no matter what I did or declined to do). I hope I have done the right thing in each instance. And I accept that in one case I may not and in the other I will never know.
Scenario one involved a friendship.
Scenario two involved a baby (not mine).
I am awaiting the latter’s imminent birth.
I am accepting the former’s demise. Or at least my choice to participate in it which de facto ought to spell its demise.
And so life goes. On and on. Meanwhile I struggle to divine my place in it, my path forward and that of my family.
I return to work soon. I am not excited. My metaphorical feet are itchy. I feel out-of-place. Out-of-step. The Monkey Mind has had its way with me.
Birth and a successful pregnancy – my second amidst too many failures – together with parenting challenges that bring me to my knees have changed me. Fundamentally. Again. My compassion for other parents has grown in the past four-plus months since baby Azulito’s birth. Exponentially. My anguish over the relentless cruelty of infertility and infant/pregnancy loss I witness far too frequently has deepened and etched welts upon my heart. At the same time, inexplicably – or perhaps not so inexplicably – my tolerance for what I perceive as a threat to either or both of my children or to my own fragile existence has withered and died. Its death has come recently and by my own hand.
I have grown selfish and fierce. Broken by compassion for others and the enduring truth of both my own suffering and my apparent triumph (I have two living children after all, right?). I am simple. I am human. I am afraid every day. Afraid of my children coming to harm. Afraid of me or the LP orphaning them too soon. From these admissions flow even simpler truths.
I need to live each day in the here and now. I wish to accept what I cannot change and let go of what serves only to detract and distract me from being present with and for me and my family. Here. Now.
And so life goes. On and on.