Southern Woman on the Skids

  Sometimes I forget that my writing is not mine alone. Let’s be clear. I’m pregnant. Very pregnant. Yesterday I was  feeling all of my 28 weeks. I am also geriatric. Forty six and pregnant. It’s not easy. Thankfully I have Rob. He brings me chocolates when he runs errands. He is a super dad. He holds me when my heart breaks over my mom. He smiles and says, Ok. Tell me,” when I get some idea or another.  I am not alone in this. I have a little tribe of people that stand behind me daily.  So yesterday when I vomited out my pregnant sleepy emotions on the page and threw it into the stratosphere, I may have broken some hearts. Within moments my sweet mother in law sent me the most thoughtful and encouraging message. My husband sat with me and held my hand.  I am not alone. I am not in a corner. And Rob was out there sowing the rows of our life while I had my tantrum.  Today I’ll get up and help him.

  My life isn’t really my own. People see me as flighty. Scattered. Not the brightest bulb. Someone who isn’t one to count on. One who is disorganized and discombobulated. I don’t dress well and I can’t make much work. But I am funny. So I’m good for a laugh. But don’t ask me about anything important. Because I will fail.  It’s wearisome. And frustrating. I feel the dirt under my nails from  trying my damndest to make my little life bloom. But somehow I’m stuck in this place. Some seat in the corner. And I know I need to just stand up and get out of that corner and back to digging in the dirt planting my own damn life. 

  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...

  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 a...

   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....

  Today my mom is dying. All I could see when I walked  into her room was that little girl. That scruffy little girl sitting in the grass. Smirking at the camera.  I gave her lots of kisses goodbye. One for each grandchild she helped me raise. One for each friend of mine she loved like her own. One for each time she made me laugh. Or yell. Or cry. Or smile. Or feel loved.  Driving home Heather and I saw the most incredible sunset. It was beautiful and messy and bright and clinging to its moment in the sky.  I will remember beautiful loud Christmas Eve parties. Her quiet strength with Ziggy and Charlie. How she loved my friends. That she was flawed but always full of generosity. I will try my best to do her proud. 

  I am jumping back into my edits. The dream agent moment has passed and so I am just putting my head down and doing the work of writing again. My friend and editor has given me some great work to dig into so I am going to just put in my slippers, pour some more coffee and write. All the while the one year old has been talking. I’m serious. She can now say all kinds of things. Dog. Eat. Door. Ball. Mama. Dads. Baba. Arlie. Iggy. Uh Oh. Night night and book.  Zig has settled on about three colleges and is driven to make that future unfold. Charlie has a new sweet friend that she is excited about. And my Rob is healing.  It’s humbling to watch him. I couldn’t do it. But he faces each day with humor and grace and still makes me laugh. And blush.  I am so happy the holidays are here. The house is filled with music and cooking and that feels healing to me.  Now back to writing.