Her world was falling apart and she had hit the wall…the breaking point where you can no longer see clearly and every single thing you’ve ever done seems futile.
• She’s moving.
• Her husband’s grandfather is dying.
• She’s being challenged at work to learn more and faster than the rest because the Dr.she works for knows she can handle it.
• She saw a lady hit a light pole while texting.
• She has four out of town trips she’s required (in her own mind) to take next year and she’s stressing about the money.
• It’s raining.
• Oh, and she’s moving. I know I already told you this one but it’s the energy sucker that won’t go away.
She can’t imagine how her husband’s grandma is going to live without the man she’s been married to for over half a century. How do you go on when the only life you’ve ever known with the only man you’ve ever loved no longer exists. When you’ve spent your last days caring for someone who is irritable one minute and childlike the next.
You cry your eyes out.
You curl up with the wretched knowledge that life as you knew it is over.
You look up and ask God for a hand.
And then you cry some more until the cleansing of the angels can envelop you or the deep of the night embraces you.
This perfect storm of life is real and in your face.
You can’t run home anymore. You can’t eat a chocolate chip cookie and magically feel better. You can’t pretend it’s not happening because it keeps coming at you.
You’re an adult and this thing called life is teaching. What’s important. What’s not.
What can wait til tomorrow. And what can’t.
Who matters. And who doesn’t.
I didn’t fix anything in our 20 minute phone call. It’s still raining and granddaddy is still just a few hours or days away from Heaven. The Docs expectations are still high and the driver who hit the pole while texting is still dumb.
She’s still moving.
But her world and her insides weren’t. For just a moment, the connection between my dear sweet daughter and me was enough to calm the chaos. It was enough to steady the swells that rose inside her and threatened to overwhelm. Our love was like a rock she could hold on to for strength.
I’m her Mom. And that’s what I do.
Wrap her in my heart and soul for comfort.
I just got a text ten minutes after our call.
It said “I’m better Mom.” “Thanks.”
And I said, “Good. Me too.”