This morning’s journal prompt was a stress check -in.
I wrote: I am happy, healthy, and out-of-town with Tim. I feel calm and at peace … even though all hell is breaking loose with one of our kids.
“Even though” – what is that?
“All hell?” – toughen up Nance.
“Even though” is life.
Five years ago, incapable of verbalization, I told my mom that one of our adult kids had run away. She asked, “What did you say?” I gave it another go and found a few words. A few minutes later, she asked, “What’s new?” With a smidge more articulation, I told her again. A few minutes later, she inquired, “What new?” Stronger yet, I repeated the sentence. By the fifth round, I was no longer weeping.
God works in mysterious ways . . . even through dementia.
On another visit, I gave another update. My mom advised, “Don’t think about it. It’s not that hard.” Plain and simple. Humph. This was inconceivable to me as my loss seeped through my pores and permeated my soul. I could not get a grip.
I cried for three years. I questioned the meaning of life, the purpose of living, the myth of the big happy family. Stark days were warmed by my other children and friends who pulled me into the light.
Ghostbusters’ theme song took on significant meaning – “Who you gonna call?”
I called, and most family members and friends shared their flames. Loved ones phoned me, and I’d be amazed that I had light to share in their time of need. Some checked on me. Some sensed when I was going down under. Many miraculously revealed to me my lingering light. Such love made me cry – everything did back then .
I consulted with professionals, read medical journals, devoured memoirs, and talked way too much about personal stuff. I got the sense that people were pushing acceptance. I fought that battle and am grateful to have lost.
I went to daily mass. Gospels about demons rocked my world. Where were these miracles today?
“Be not afraid.”
“Peace be with you.”
“I will not forsake you.”
Mantras are miraculous.
This spring, Richard Rhor’s Falling Upward course emphasizes daily meditation – “Be still and know that I am.”
I did not want to be still. I wanted some fixing. And I wanted it fast in times of panic.
There is no fixing. There is no even though. There is just what is.
I am not alone. None of us are. We all have suffering.
Grief, confusion, and loss don’t have to take center stage. I stay with the lengthy monologues. I let them play out. Then I sing with the chorus. And I get back in the dance.
All hell is not breaking loose. It is not new. It has always been around. And it always will be.
And God and goodness prevail, in you and in me and in everyone, and in everything (Richard Rhor’s The Universal Christ). Even in people with differing realities.
We get to live Grace loud and clear . . . even when expressing it is hard. When I can’t find my voice, I seek the lesson, the love . . . in the sensation. There is no shame in big feelings.
In every moment, “God comes to you disguised as your life.” – Paula D’Arcy (from Richard Rhor’s Falling Upward)