Southern Woman on the Skids

  I think my adrenaline has run out. Rob and I have been rowing our tiny boat against stormy seas for months, and now we are just bailing the water out and trying to stay on course. So my drive to just survive is gone and I can feel all the pain.  I went to church today. My mom’s funeral was at the church where I went as a kid. The church where I was an acolyte. The church where I discovered what faith meant to me. It was an Episcopal church and it felt like home. So I went to the local Episcopal church in our town. I had been before but for some reason at the time it wasn’t the right place.  Today it was. It felt like home again. Weldon toddled around and I tried to listen to the liturgy through the big wooden doors. Finally, I wandered back to the nursery and just let her play.   There was no one else there so I sat in the rocking chair and just let myself feel safe. I cried for my mom and my sweet sick husband and my heart that was beating too fast and knew I wasn’t alone. 

  Yesterday was my moms funeral. Because Rob and I are both crippled at the moment, my sister set to planning it. It was beautiful. There was a trumpeter and amazing food and music. People from every stage of moms life filed in and gave hugs and cried along with us. My friends and their parents held onto me and reminded me that I have a team of mothers to help me through this life. I wailed alongside Ziggy through the service. But at the end. The priests stood over moms ashes. And they gave her back. That was what they said. We give her back to you Lord.  It struck me.  I know that my children are not my own. I raise them and love them but I believe they belong to God. It’s my job to love them like Christ would and let them go.  And that's what I had to do with mom. She was here to ferry me on my way. And then she had to go back. She belongs to God.  I knew it in my heart, but seeing the priest pray over her. Seeing my son weep for her. And being surrounded by all the people whose

   We’ve been tied up in a shit storm the past few months. My husband had serious spinal surgery. Then he got an infection. Then he got pneumonia. Then I had heart failure. Then my mom died.  Am I missing anything? In the midst of it all, I’ve cried and laughed and tried to make sense of it all with my friends and family. At one point I said, “Well, at least we’re all holding hands through hell.” It kind of resonated with them. Because that’s kind of all we have isn’t it? Life doesn’t really care sometimes. And all you can do is grip tightly to the things and people around you. And hope they grip back. Thank God I have people that have not only held onto me tight, but dragged me through the flames of these seasons in my life.  I know there is a light ahead. The path out of Hell is near. But honestly I’m not even looking anymore. All I can do is close my eyes and hope for the best. It’s my friends. My friends have me and will pull me through and back where I belong.