What a difference a day makes, 24 little hours. I woke up happy today. Yesterday morning, I woke up in a crappy mood after a night of ridiculous nightmares. The least weird of my dreams was watching my mother go base jumping off a bridge with a satellite dish/umbrella hat strapped to her head. You heard me. And then it got weird. A pre-coffee hub-man questionnaire set me off and it was downhill from there.
Today is a wonderful day. I woke up happy, twice. The first time was 2:30 am. Went out to the patio and sat in the dark Texas night. This is the time of year when the wind blows hard late at night. It talks to you through the leaves on the trees. Whispers “what’s bothering you child? Let it out, let it go. I’ll take it away in the wind.” Woke up the 2nd time at 8:30 and still happy. I can live with this.
What was going on? Paralyzed with fear and anger, I’m beating myself up for having feelings. Smacking myself in the head with a hammer is more productive. At least I have bruises visible to others.
So what am I angry about? My beautiful daughter, lost to me in her own personal hell of mental illness, drug and alcohol abuse. 39 years old and looking like she got dragged behind a truck. Hell yea I’m angry! But I feel better today because I let myself admit it.
I’m angry that she dragged her children through this hell with her. I’m angry that she let her youngest children be taken away by the state, because she was off drugging and left them alone, again and again. A loving family adopted them and they are in a much better environment now.
I’m angry because her darling oldest son, now living with me, basically grew up with wolves. No guidance, no example of any kind of values other than survival. I’m angry, NO, make that blazing, white-hot, steaming, raging, furious, that she blames it on me! Angry that much of society also blames it on me. I blame it on me. Where did I go wrong? I’m a terrible mother. I dared to try to have a life. If only I had done something differently. If only…….. Knowing that this is complete and total bull shyte doesn’t make it hurt any less.
What am I afraid of? I’m afraid to get my hopes up. Afraid that grandson will hang in there for a while and then get sucked back into the nightmare. Afraid that my daughter has damaged her brain beyond any hope of recovery and a meaningful life. Afraid that she and I will never have a real conversation again. One that involves loving communication, rather that yet another attempt to con me out of more money.
So I woke up happy today. Sounds strange, but it is the feel good kind of happy that happens after getting a huge splinter out of your foot. I know there are other splinters lurking around in there. Dealing with this kind of grief is like having Malaria. It goes, comes roaring back like the 2nd half of a hurricane, and then goes again.
Today I chose joy. And lot’s of coffee!