WAKE UP

Once in a while, something happens that smacks you in the metaphysical face. An event can shock you right out of your everyday routine, like a bucket of cold water thrown at you unsuspectingly from behind a curtain. I rather appreciate these little wake ups from another realm, so I can be reminded of what’s what, and step out of my own preoccupied, obsessive little mind brain.

Sometimes, multiple events happen in such a short cluster in time, and you think, REALLY? Even if I’m TRYING to ignore the message being hurled at me, it would take one hell of a deep hole in the sand for my thick little head not to feel the impact of such bombardment, and yield to the information coming my way.

It’s been like that lately.

WORRYING ONLY MEANS SUFFERING TWICE (some background)

I am the mom of two teenage boys. A not so insignificant part of living this blessing of a life, is to carry a pretty much constant low-level (not so low-level) worry that at any time I might receive a call or message that one of them is hurt, or in trouble, or even something more unspeakable. You see, to use a cliche that actually captures rather aptly how I feel – being a mom to these guys quite literally feels like having my insides on the outside. Once they are out there, roaming around this dangerous and chaotic world, they are potential prey. Anything can happen. Anything. And there’s basically nothing – NOTHING I can do to protect them.

How did anyone think I could possibly carry this weighty and terrifying burden? Why didn’t they tell me about this irreversible state of high alert a mother enters once pushing these humans out of our own (already anxious and imperfect) bodies? The unknowability and scariness of it all is too much! It’s kind of like handing over millions of dollars in cash, asking me to stand on a busy street corner, holding it out for all to see, with a sign on my heart that says “Please take my precious treasure!” And then asking me to trust that no one will indeed take it. That’s pretty much how I feel every day.

I work hard to quiet those voices – because at the end of the day – it’s a probability and statistics situation. MOST of the time, very bad things will not happen. MOST days, the odds are that everyone in my family will return home, relatively unscathed. There may be some hurt feelings, a bruised leg from soccer, or other relatively small bumps in the road. But it’s generally and statistically safe to assume that the Category 4 storm will pass us by. Furthermore, I tell myself daily that even if the storm does land squarely above us, worrying about it will not prevent it from happening. So why suffer twice? Proceed as if all will be perfectly manageable, if not wondrous. Well, I try to tell myself these things…

DREAD, MATERIALIZED

Monday. Working at my desk. Phone rings – husband calling. Not unusual, heart rate remains steady. In a calm voice I hear, “He’s been in an accident. He’s fine”. The world gets swishy, I hear my husband’s voice continuing on, but I’m at capacity. I try to remain calm. I say to myself – it’s ok. You’ve run this scenario a thousand times in your head. I’ve trained for this moment like a professional athlete. My nervous system knows what to do. In fact, within 5 seconds, it’s already regrouping because I’ve heard the words “HE’S OK”. He’s fine. Into my ear holes comes other logistical information about the scene of the accident, I grasp bits and pieces… police report, tow truck, other driver is ok, he’s fine, he’s fine. He’s handling it. He’s ok.

For about 24 hours, some chemical in my body or divine reminder buffers my 17 year old son from any anger or frustration directed towards him. All I feel is gratitude. I can’t stop hugging him, and looking at that perfect, unharmed and beautiful body I made out of love and biology. In the basement, in his bedroom, the usual messes that normally invoke a low grade rage within me actually make me smile. I do a morose little exercise, and think “what if I was looking at this mess, and it was the final mess to clean up?” Jesus! Stop that. But still, I do it, and I’m just so unbelievably happy to see empty water cans and dirty socks and dishes caked with day old ice cream. I ride the high of having cheated a fate far worse than the totaling of the awesome little pickup truck we bought from our friends – the 5-speed piece of crap he loved so dearly. Every step around the house feels joyful, because my oldest son still occupies it.

BACK TO LIFE, THEN ONE MONDAY LATER…

Soon enough, reality sets in. The practical state of affairs lies heavy. No more truck. Rides needed. The taste of freedom dashed, the parental chauffeurs called upon, once again. It’s hard to say who feels the sting of these circumstances more, the passenger or the driver. Early morning swim practice, late night rides from school activities or social time with friends. To be honest, I find myself even being thankful for the regained time in the car with my nearly adult son. He’s so on the move these days, we hardly see him. So actually, some alone time in the car with him is a welcome opportunity to hear from him how things are going.

One week after the fateful Monday crash, I grabbed my boots and coat, and ran out the door to pick up the swimmer from evening practice. I got there at 7:15. We were driving home, chatting about our days, and the conversation turned toward the replacement of his beloved truck. One must exercise patience while navigating the bureaucracy of insurance claims, payouts, and such, I tell his impatient, somewhat entitled self. In the very midst of our conversation about next steps for finding and paying for a new replacement vehicle, the random and dangerous universe demonstrated her shocking force yet again. Without any warning, foresight, or time to even honk or swerve, a red car was immediately before me. A young driver coming the opposite way made a very poor choice and turned left directly in front of us. It was like a brick wall dropped down in front of me from out of nowhere.

AN UNPLEASANT SCENE

Airbags, smoke and an acrid odor immediately filled the car, and my son – after (manically) asking if I was ok – opened the door and got the hell out of that car fast as lightning. I sat there not actually comprehending what had just occurred. The crash happened instantaneously, and then time moved in slow motion, as I tried to grasp the chain of events that had just taken place. I could hear my son freaking out on the street, and a young woman tentatively walked towards me and asked if I was ok. It took a few moments for it to register that she was actually the driver of the red wall. It was misty and dark, and the lights of traffic made everything feel just out of touch and weird.

The girl’s mother appeared on the scene, and started yelling at me in full-on mama bear mode. The shock of the impact, compounded by this stranger’s rant left me literally without words. Better that way, I suppose. Words don’t generally escape me, and the words I would have likely chosen would not have been charitable or helpful, I daresay. My son kept asking me why I let her talk to me the way she did. Frankly it’s not like me to not engage when challenged, especially unjustly. But from the depths inside me, a sense of compassion came to me in the swirly, confusing, crashy moment. I just kept thinking, “I will meet her where she is.” She was confused and scared too.

It was difficult to see her turn her vitriol from me to her own daughter, and I was relieved I had not used incendiary words to only make the situation worse. I could take care of myself, and I hoped the same for the young lady whom I’m sure wishes she could take a do-over of those seconds before turning left – to just take a beat, and a closer look. I wish she didn’t have to live with the fact that she didn’t.

IT’S JUST METAL AND MONEY

All the things happened that must happen – information was exchanged, a police officer came to the scene, my car was towed, totaled, and I was found to be not at fault. In the end – both accidents boiled down to inconvenience, disappointment, and an unexpected outlay of dollars that would have been better saved.

In telling my neighbor about our two accidents in one week, he said “What did you do to make the universe so angry with you?” My response was, conversely, “What did I do to be so lucky to be standing here?? How lucky is our family to have escaped the ER not once, but twice!?” Real.

So, back to where I began… OK Universe! I’m listening, and I’m awake. Most days, the odds keep us safe. Most days, nothing too dramatic happens – our bodies stay healthy and intact, our houses stay standing, and our loved ones reappear in the light of the next day that consistently comes. When we are blessed with such good fortune, we’re actually just super duper lucky. Brushing up so closely with danger and flirting with catastrophe has made me see this more clearly. I have been extraordinarily lucky.

Others, I know, are not always so fortunate.

CANCER AND HOSPICE

This past year, two fairly good friends of mine were diagnosed with stage 3 and 4 cancer – breast, and lung. Neither of these diagnoses ma​ke any freaking sense, at all. Not that cancer ever makes much of any sense, but these two individuals were healthy. They weren’t smokers, and both live healthy lives. One of them is actually my personal g-damn trainer. This dude is the picture of health, and for him to have lung cancer is one of the most nonsensical and cruel things I can imagine.

Another friend, slightly more distant, was diagnosed in June with inoperable adrenal cancer. Our common friend told me this weekend that she is now starting hospice care. What the *actual* fuck!? I’m hearing this news while out taking a walk. A walk – on my legs that weren’t broken by the impact of the car crash, with my lungs that breathe just fine, and my boobs that have no cancer in them. Despite ploughing into another vehicle, smoking plenty of cigarettes in decades past, this body remains intact, as does my son’s. We cheated death and injury not once, but twice – at least. As I am being reminded far too much lately, we are actually cheating death every damn day. Our safety and assured tomorrows are simply an illusion.

My friends are not so lucky. While it may not be immediate for all three, these friends of mine will likely not live out the lives they thought they would. Their lives will be complicated and uncomfortable with cancer treatments, and likely cut short of the years they assumed they would have. This reality is nothing short of crushing. There is no making sense of loss and suffering.

NEAR MISSES AND A RANDOM CALL

I ponder the events and news of the past weeks, and feel grateful for my life, my family, and my ability to recover from expensive accidents. The near misses really have made me stop and smell the flowers, as it were. I look a little more closely at my family’s faces when they leave for the day. I hug them a little tighter when we say goodnight. I actively engage in remembering what’s truly important. AND YET – I have a lingering ever-present worry still, honestly – about the dumb stuff.

I worry I said the wrong thing to someone, I think about how my hair could be cut a little differently, and I think and rethink my choice of the Subaru I bought, to replace the one that now lives in a junkyard. I’ve been kind of obsessing about it, actually, and it’s been the topic of more than a couple conversations in which I force my husband and friends to listen to my irrational and ridiculous perseverating. Did I do the right thing??? Should I have chosen a different vehicle?

Then the universe yelled at me, with a megaphone. In my ear.

A LITTLE PERSPECTIVE, PLEASE?

I got a call from my friend Dave. ​Completely randomly, he brought up this person we both know, and he says – “You know, this guy is just a worrier. It’s just his personality. He worries about this, he worries about that… and I’m trying to calm him down all the time. It’s like God put me in his way to make him see that it’s all going to be ok”. “For example,” he says, “He bought this Subaru (I can’t make this stuff up), and he tells me he regretted it, and second guessed himself for his choice. But he says that finally, after two weeks, he’s in love with the stupid car. Can you imagine? Can you imagine wasting all that energy?” he says to me. (I can, actually) “Can you imagine what it must be like to be married to him? His poor wife. I’m exhausted just listening to him. Life’s too short to wonder if you bought the right Subaru, you know?”

Yeah. I do know. The message could literally not be more clear. I’m listening.

Love every day,

Julia