I’ve been back at work a week and a half. I cried the first few days. Several times. I’ve cried a couple of times this week though never over work. The tears are another layer of grieving I suppose. Letting go of what I worked so hard to have and now must relinquish for at least nine hours a day.
I still am not used to operating without a little person, baby Azulito, joined to me as though an extension of my self. I still keep the heat on in the car when I wouldn’t need it and the radio too quiet for him, forgetting he is not there and feeling jarred ever-so-slightly when the realization strikes.
In short: Life goes on.
The MT has fared well at the day home where both boys are in full-time attendance now. He is calmer and more respectful of the rules and does not mess with his baby brother. Why? I cannot tell you.
Baby Azulito – my heart, my soul, embodied it seems – has made the most remarkable transition. He is the happiest, calmest and most peaceful baby I could ever have wished for. I will learn much from him – different things than I have learned and will continue to learn from the MT – that much is clear.
I have witnessed another employment injustice at work. I am rather painfully reminded me that the practice of law – at least in private practice at larger law firms – is a misogynist and hostile world. A world much of me longs to leave and the warrior in me feels challenged to change. I’m too old and too jaded to believe I can truly change anything in a profession so grounded in – and fond of looking backward longingly at – the past.
Life goes on.
That said, I struggle with how one can love the law while holding in signficant disdain the world in which it is most often practiced. Yuck is about the nicest (and least profane) thing I can say.
In speaking to a class of graduating law students last week (to whom I was asked to give a presentation about a board I’m about to begin chairing and have sat on for five years) I chose to emphasize the importance of mindfulness. We talked about how important it is that that hold onto a passion – something that matters deeply to them – outside the law as they enter its practice. That used to be running for me. Now it is writing and my boys.
My boys, I told that class, are my platinum. They and my journey to bring them into this world have afforded me the best gift life has to offer. They themselves are a source of more joy, compassion and mindfulness than I could ever have imagined.
Even on days when I feel enslaved to my job and less than on-par with the world of private practice and the life I’ve chosen in my at-work hours I can think of those two cherub faces and feel my heart swept up and away with a tsunami of gratitude. My heart swells just typing these words.
Thank you, boys. Thank you for teaching me, among other things, that life truly does go on.