Beautiful...unless you get too close, unless you feel the pain of the sharp barbs.
I'm sitting in a gym in Springfield, MO. The doors are open...the crisp, cold, fall air smells wonderful. My fingers are cold and a bit numb, but I won't want toasty warm right now. It is what I call sweatshirt weather, and it is my favorite type of weather. The trees outside are beautiful. I want to leave the gym...the noise...the people and walk on this beautiful day. I want to walk without stopping.
But I won't.
I'm in Springfield, MO working at Volleyball Nationals--selling t-shirts and updating brackets. It is a three day event that my husband and son run. I help in small but needed areas. The problem is that my heart feels like its been stuck with all those cactus barbs. My dad is failing quickly. He's been put on oxygen after a scary episode on Tuesday. Hospice has been a huge help to my mother. They will enable her to keep my dad at home until the end. She is a nurse and capable, but the support of the hospice team has been wonderful for them both.
My mind spins in circles as we seek to determine what to do next. Do we return to Puerto Rico on the 28th, as scheduled, and break up housekeeping quickly then return to Arizona? Or return immediately to Arizona on the 22nd? Or should Tim go back to PR alone to pack things up, and I'll go right onto Arizona? Our lease their ends December 18th so regardless we have to be out by then.
A call from one of my sisters...she's in the hospital with reversible cerebral vasoconstriction syndrome. She's been in the hospital since Monday and will be there for several more days if all goes well. Scary stuff...overwhelming stuff. She didn't tell me until today, and I understand why. It has changed her plans to get out to Arizona. She's a nurse; she understands more. I count on her knowledge. This is awful timing for her. But then again, when would it be good timing to get RCVS?
I'm not writing for sympathy or advise. I'm writing because I'm in a busy place full of people and yet feel so lonely in this circle of grief and the unknown. I'm writing because writing helps me think and process and cope. I'm writing because there is a lull in the crazy busy-ness that has been today. I'm writing because a volleyball team came to my semi-quiet spot and filled it with happy, loud laughter and talk. Obliviously to me and my black cloud that threatens to break open and dissolve me into tears. Somehow their happy noises helps me.
I'm sure that I'll second guess myself after I push "Publish." Who knows if I'll let the post stay. But for now it feels good to write and get this all out of me. It feels good to know that when we need to take the next step we'll know exactly what step it is suppose to be. It will be clear. It is good to know that, to take a deep breath and marvel at the quiet, uninterrupted space I've had to write and thing and grieve just enough to take the edge off.