Closer to Fine

I sat motionless beside the moving water and embraced the moment; stillness among such rage.  I sat this way, silent and unmoving, while a foot ahead, the river raged on. 

A breeze, in absence of any wind, on my exposed neck sent shivers down my spine.  I felt open to the world around me – happily on the receiving end of whatever is intended for me. 

I smiled, stood, and shook the earth that clung to my legs.  It felt like the right time to move.

As I walked along the water’s edge, I consciously opened myself to the sounds around me. Some of them, I imagined, were carried along the river, meant just for my ears.  They vibrated through me, bringing with them a focus I craved.

I made a sharp turn to climb up the embankment. Sweating now, the sun beat on my back and my legs burned from the incline.  To my left, I spotted a cavernous area that I’d never noticed before.

I stood at the cave’s entrance; my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I scanned the inside. It was empty and cold and didn’t feel like somewhere I want to spend any more time.

‘Hello,’ I said sweetly into the darkness. 

No answer.

“What? No answer?’ I shouted.

Once again, no response. 

As I turned to leave the echo finally reached me, but I had committed to leaving the darkness. My eyes squinted and adjusted to the beautiful sunshine that hit my face.  That echo can forever live in the darkness; some messages were never intended to be received, the delay too great.

The sun, and my resolve to move forward, towards it, added a little kick to my step.  I made quick work of the rest of the hill and before I knew it, I was on the other side. My legs moved faster and faster underneath me as I descended, so as to avoid falling.  I could feel my heart under the outer layers pounding, both from fear of falling and the exertion of the climb. 

In the final stretch, a melody crept into my ear. I hummed along to its song - it’s an oldie, but a goodie.  The lyrics came to me, piece by piece, like a puzzle I had been trying to solve.  The song filled my head for the remainder of my walk home and when I cross the threshold I was in full song,  

‘And I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains
There's more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine, yeah
The closer I am to fine, yeah’

Three children ran to me, their singing, smiling, refreshed mama.  May they always remember me walking in the door this way – smiling and in song – arms outstretched for them.

Their little hands reached for mine; they pulled me further inside and as they did, they filled me in on everything that I had missed - stories saved just for me. The silence and stillness of the river, gone, replaced by the chaos of three littles talking over one another, excited that I am home.  

I got the message;  I felt it in a breeze, vibrations along the water, in a delayed echo, the rhythm of my heart, and in the deafening love of my three children. Every question that I had is answered with one simple truth – I don’t need answers.  I don’t need anything; not from you. 

And, with one walk, I am closer to fine.

I Guess We Walk Again

I got the notification while standing at the rear of my car, lugging skates and helmets out for a fun family skate.  I paused to pull my phone out of my pocket  and read the message.  My heart dropped and as it did a sound escaped my mouth.  It was simply a longer breathe than normal but in it my daughter picked up on the change in my mood.  In that exhale, the feeling of defeat escaped with it - a breathy fuuuuuuuck of sorts.

“What mama?” she asked me.

I’ve always been honest with the kids.  This honesty has created some beautifully emotionally intelligent children.  If she’s smart enough to know that something just shifted inside of her mama, she’s smart enough for me to share the news with.

“Remember mama’s friend that had cancer and we walked for her wearing all pink?”

“Yes, mama”

“Well, her cancer is back, babe, and mama just found out so I’m a little upset”. I tell her as a tear drops.

She paused, never breaking eye-contact with me.  She took her own exaggerated breath as she thought on the news.  Finally, she spoke following another long breath. 

“Okay, well, I guess we just walk again”

I guess we just walk again.

If only we could view all of life’s obstacles as my 9-year-old does.  Courage without fear.  We know what needs to be done.  We can intellectualize the steps for whatever life holds in front of us.  But the fear, it’s the fear that keeps us paralyzed. 

My sweet daughter saw the steps that needed to happen in simplest of terms - one foot in front of the next with all of your loved ones around you until you cross that finish line. 

We will cross that finish line holding hands with you.  We will show up, wearing whatever the hell is required.  We will bring our smiles and our strength for when you have none.  We will put one foot in front of the other with you – step after step until we arrive with you. 

Holding hands, we will cross that finish line.

We will have courage, without fear, for the days when you have none. 

So, to whoever may be reading this, to whomever may find themselves staring down one of life’s great obstacles: take a page from my daughter’s playbook. 

Take a deep breath and tell yourself, “I guess we just walk again.”

Assertive Right #3

Somewhere along the way I’ve lost bits of myself to others.  Scattered over the landscape, it seems futile that I might ever be whole again.  Today, I scan the landscape in hopes of patching my tired soul. I breathe the cold air deep into my lungs and oddly enjoy the sting of it on my face. 

It was given a value in my childhood household, this selflessness I have been known for. I grew up watching my mother give endlessly, never tiring of the support she was required to offer. It wasn’t rare for the phone to ring, from the other room, I’d hear her say “I’ll be right there” and before I could blink she had her jacket on and was out the door.  These people, some I didn’t know, needed my mother more than I, I assumed. I was left to watch TV without her these evenings.  Later, I’d explain to her the parts she had missed while she was off assisting others with whatever might have ailed them on that particular day.

These pieces, I tear off willingly, proudly, defining myself by the beauty of my imperfect and exhausted soul.  Other’s define me by this as well.  I give freely to some who don’t deserve it.  They grew to expect that if they were missing a corner piece, I’d find the matching one in myself and go without so that they might be whole.  I leave my children, to tell me about the ending at a later time, so that I can have a drink with you.  Do you feel whole yet?  How many more beers will it take?  My daughter waits at home to share the ending of the show with me.  She watches me give value to my title of the helper.  She eavesdrops on my conversations, learning from me.  One day, she might find herself on this trail in these woods pondering how many of these people would offer to her one of their four coveted corner pieces.

Today, on this trail in the dead of winter, the cold wind is blowing right through me. I realize how cold and lonely that feels.  A waif, too weak to stand on my own, I come to terms with the fact that I’ve given too much of myself.  This, I finally realize as I fear the wind might blow me away. The cost is getting too high.  I don’t want to miss the ending of the show.  I repeat Assertive Right #3 out loud - not fearful of anyone hearing me because I have’t seen a soul on the trail today- I am not responsible for finding solutions to your problems. 

I am not responsible for finding solutions to your problems.

The Thin Line

I remember now -

We used to walk barefoot to McDonald’s late at night, carrying our shoes.  We would meet halfway between your house and mine, (a mere two house walk for each of us) shoes in hand, feet on the earth, summer breeze at our back.  We would make the trek to simply get an ice cream cone.  The walk would dissolve into endless laughter, friendship, and solving our teenage problems.  We did this walk all of the time.

You were my very best friend. 

The very best friend.

Soon, a country lay between us - a mountain range and a few provinces.  Eventually, an ocean split the distance and meeting halfway became impossible. Neither of us cared to swim that far.  The distance grew so great that we thought we could never get back those nights, those talks, or that kind of love for one another.  Yet, you were always on my mind.  I continued to give nod to those late-night walks, for they were what made me. 

Still, I loved you endlessly. 

Then, the tiniest life put our distance into perspective.  It was never so great after all.  I wouldn’t live this nomadic life forever.  Home was clearly defined and I missed it. I knew I’d always return.  I knew what I wanted my life to look like and this tiny human - your tiny human - would be part of it.  I called you once a day, my night, your morning, like I used to for the remainder of that year abroad.  I will be there for her birth – and I was. I will be there for her first steps– and I was.  I will be there for you – and I was. 

My promise, my word – we can get back there. 

Today we stood, opposite each other, eyes fixed, and it all flooded back. The thin line between us seemed to be the greatest distance that we might ever have to cover.  The Great Lakes, The Prairies, The Rockies and The Pacific Ocean seemed minor compared to the line between us today.  I stood there, brave-faced, a mirror image of you, with the line dividing us.  I stood there, wanting to remember all the times that we met halfway but I simply remembered all the times my strides were larger.  So, I stayed on my side, and you stayed on yours (likely for the same reasons).

Now, hours later, I sit at my pine table, tea cooling beside me, fingers on the keyboard, and I’m able to remember meeting you halfway for our late-night walks.  I’m able to remember how you promised to be there for her birth, her first steps, and for me – and you were. 

I remember now -

The memories flood the page as do tears in my eyes.  Those summer nights flood back with each tear that falls. A long time ago, we would meet halfway, feet on the earth, shoes in hand, and walk together. 

Now, a thin line stands in the way.