Water

What is it about water that soothes us, lulls us to peace? I would like to believe that in the beginning of our existence, as our mother’s bodies worked overtime to create every cell needed to sustain and support our lives, we felt completely comfortable and at ease surrounded by the amniotic fluid. It protected us, kept us safe. So is it surprising that even as we grow we still crave that protection?

Water. It’s the first thing I thought of when asked what I wanted. What would you like to do Mary, is there anything we can do for you?

I want to lie in a pool, I said. I want to lie in the middle of a pool.

Perhaps it was the thought of being weightless, not having this pressure that was slowly enveloping me. I wanted to feel light, and protected by the water.

How are you expected to process this type of news?

When Shiloh first asked me to get Micah on the phone with me, I thought nothing of the uneasiness in his voice. When he told me if anyone was at the house that I needed to ask them to leave, I wondered if we were in trouble some how. How this is possible considering he lives 800 miles away, who knows.

There was an accident. A tree fell. Little Mollie was gone, dad and others in the hospital. Mom is gone guys. She is gone. The tree killed her. It crushed her.

 It crushed my mom and she is gone.  I am alone.

I felt the walls come close, I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what he was trying to tell me. My brother stood by the island in the kitchen with his hand over his mouth. And I swore. I swore so loud and so long. My voice was rough, my throat hurt, but I didn’t stop. Micah stood silent, his shoulders hunched over, looking at the floor. His hand never left his mouth, he just stood, whimpering.

How dare you. I already experienced the agonizing pain of watching my son carried away from me. The one man that was supposed to always think me beautiful, left me.

 

I gave up my son, I lost the man I loved, and now you are going to take her from me too? Fuck you, and fuck this life.

Phone calls were made. I fought it. I threw punches in the air; I felt the house pressing down on me. Aimlessly I wandered thru the home. The home she had created for us. I wandered, found my brother curled up in a ball in one of the guest rooms, and I quietly pulled open the covers and climbed in beside him.

I didn’t dream that night. And when I woke, they were sitting around the table discussing how to get us to Utah. The country club left breakfast, untouched. I walked in, they looked up.

What would you like to do Mary? Is there anything we can do for you?

Sundays with Grey

Sunday, the day of rest. The day we all allow ourselves to let the stress drop, set aside the phone, and the world comes to a peaceful halt. It’s the day when if possible, we spend with the people we hold dear.  The to-do list is pushed back in our minds and we focus on giving ourselves the gift of relaxation.

I wake with him at my side every Sunday. With one leg tucked up tight, his arm hugging the pillow. There is something about starting the day with the one you love, it’s the most comforting thing in the world. The thought of actually climbing out of bed is quickly pushed aside as I curl my body around his, for the moment is surreal.  The warmth of his skin has a way of fading all worries behind me.  I want nothing more than to feel him, to press my body close to his, and embrace the moment.

I have a tendency to rush thru life, to have my little boxes aligned just so in my head, waiting for that satisfying check mark. I am constantly looking at what still needs to be done, and coming up with a strategic plan. I live for organized lists, cupboards, clean laundry, and the sound of the dishwasher in the evening stating that chores have been done. I am constantly looking at my weaknesses and figuring out a way to become stronger, not allowing the justification of where I lack. I over analyze conversations, have every project mapped to the minute, and think too much of things that do not deserve the attention. I rush through my responsibilities with the hopes that by the time I climb into bed, I have allowed myself to breathe. That I have felt some satisfaction from what was accomplished instead of eying what was left behind.

And then, Sunday comes, this one day where I let the strategies go. I think not of my perfectly squared boxes waiting to be marked, but of how I can possibly prolong this day. For this day, is exhilarating.

I grasp the beauty of indecisiveness for a brief moment. The freedom of not really being able to make up my mind on what I want to do, to eat, to watch, for it holds no meaning.  It’s simply to be with him that I want; the only thing that I can confirm with true clarity.

And so, I allow myself to be content.  And I feel as if I have gone from surviving, to experiencing.

This is what I have been waiting for; experiencing the peaceful halt of the chaos that surrounds us with the one that compliments me entirely.