When I was in high school, I saw a counselor every week. She once told me to write letters to myself with my nondominant hand for a different perspective. In this age of technology I wonder what perspectives we lose not writing pen to paper at all–everything with both hands all the time.
This week felt like everything all the time more of the time than I’m comfortable with. Last night, I eventually just had to lie on the couch and close my eyes.
My mother had surgery yesterday to remove a tumor in her stomach. It’s cancer–technically. But also it’s not the sort of cancer that so many cancer diagnoses are. It’s unlikely she’ll need chemo or radiation. It’s unlikely she’ll need to do anything except heal from surgery. So I’m not…worried per se. It just would have been nice yesterday to have more information. It would be nice to have had any information today.
The biological father of my two older children can’t seem to get it together enough to be an actual dad. It’s overwhelming for me to experience his absence to them, as well as his tragic (as of yet) inability to grow and evolve.
My husband, who has been going through a fair amount of medical and health issues, is overwhelmed with his own feelings involving grief and loss and pain of old ghosts. As well as physical pain and exhaustion because of hard labor and stressful job stuff. And I can’t do anything about any of that. I can stand by his side and support him, but it’s not my place, or within my ability, to do more. And try as I may to not be weighed down by it, it is still a heavy part of my day. And that is something I navigate.
And then there is the frustrating fact of hormones and the sweet irony that women sync up. And I have a teenager.
But it’s all a reminder that life ebbs and flows and moments are just moments and on to the next we go.