Nothing like falling into a place. And entire world whose comfort is undeniable. How long has it been since this has happened to me?
I credit today to the slow recovery from Covid. Both Julia and I tested negative this morning—she probably would have tested negative days ago. And me too, probably, but I waited. It didn’t matter to wait. We were being very careful—masks and going to very few places. And it was well past our quarantine time.
But anyway, this morning I woke up, still coughing but otherwise restless. It was and is a dreary almost-spring day. 45 degrees, rain with shades of gray above. My upstairs neighbor had planted daffodils around the house that are waving their yellow heads and the Covid fog, which I hadn’t realized I had, is beginning to clear. (I guess it could be late winter foggy head or old lady fogginess but I’m blaming Covid today.)
“There are days we live as if death were nowhere in the background; from joy to joy to joy, from wing to wing, from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.”
Parker Palmer posted these lines From Blossoms, by Li-Young Lee.
The words break me open. I could almost feel the crack and see the light shining through. I have lived for so so long as if death paid calls and demanded I serve him tea, as if death watercolored the garden backdrop and asked for a critique. I have grown comfortable with his presence, or at least, I have stopped fighting or fleeing from his penumbra.
I have grown use to the absence of joy that comes from inside me. I have manufactured joy, have siphoned off just a little joy from those engulfed in it. It is second hand and yet, I have been grateful for the taste of it. I have needed to chase and catch it if I was to feel any of it at all.
And then, all of a sudden, my heart is in my throat, I am prepared to tremble in anticipation, I am singing all day.
“from joy to joy to joy, from wing to wing, from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.”
Finally today, I have caught my breath. From the long holiday weekend and the catch up week that followed. I still have an overdue phone call to my advocate at Healthcare For All and another call to MassHealth. I’m saving that which I know will be frustrating until Monday.
It was a good weekend.
Justin’s mother and I threw a baby shower for our children and their impending baby boy. It was a bigger shower than it would have been had there been had there been the planned-for wedding. We invited more people and people from further away than we might have. Still, there were those from too far away who were missing.
10:00 a.am. I get a email from Julia’s inclusion facilitator that Julia is upset that she left her wallet at home. I am more or less ready to do some errands, so I jump in the car and bring the wallet over to the program. I want Julia to have as good a day as she can. She has had some very good days this week . . . talk about that later.
I read a blog post (and I can’t find it now to link it) about a mom who has a child with autism who had reached middle or high school and was more independent than he had been a few years prior. The mother felt some room open up, some possibility of freedom for herself, and asked a trusted therapist if she thought that the mom could enter the regular work force again. She had cobbled together part-time work through the years but missed a full-time job and building a career. The therapist, who knew her kiddo, told the mom that if she “needed” to work, she should, but that kids with the best outcomes have full-time moms.