single momma of 12+ years who finds sanity pedaling, kickboxing, running (preferably not in circles), and practicing yoga. this space is a smattering of my thoughts, rants, reflections and reality on any given day about mostly those topics and sometimes whatever floats my boat...like bleu cheese, naps, great hugs and marketing things. There are no perfect themes, fairy tales or mincing of words. if you cannot deal with an occasional cuss word you should probably just keep on keeping on.
Friday, October 30, 2009
A Year Ago A Year Later
I dressed T up as some kind of football player (or was it the year of the ninja?) and we celebrated Halloween with my sister, her kids, our friend D visiting from Seattle.
I spent the better part of the month writing depositions, compiling evidence.
I went to court with the kid's dad the last time. I mean, it's probably not thelast time, but it was, nonetheless, the last time he took me there.
I watched my dear friends made the difficult decision to take bone marrow from one son to save the other.
I was fresh off learning (again) that trust is elusive and slippery and love bites. That sometimes telling the truth is more difficult than avoidance.
I gathered up my closest friends and hunkered down, as if to protect myself from further disappointment.
I sat on Scooter's counter and drank his wine.
I sat on Scooter's counter and laughed.
I sat on Keri's couch and drank her wine.
I sat on Keri's couch and laughed.
I rode my bike more than ever before; in the living room, the basement, my bedroom, the gym, outside.
I pedaled until my mind stopped completely.
I found it usually took more than 25 miles.
I convinced myself every single day before bed that I would not die of a heart attack, even though deep in my guts I thought I would die of a heart attack.
I learned that those are called anxiety attacks, not heart attacks.
I kicked the bag at kickboxing so hard a 300 pound man peered around the bag and told me he was scared, wondered if I had an anger problem.
I probably had an anger problem.
I drove my kid to and fro, although, little did I know, that to and fro had nothing on THIS to and fro.
Reluctant. Triumphant. Awful. Tragic. Hopeful. Endings. Beginnings. Life.
A Year Later:
I am less broken, more aware, and yet scarred.
I continually marvel at the freedom forgiveness brings.
I vow to never, ever forget the crazy tenacity of a child fighting for his life, his never asking once, why?
I ponder my friendship with his parents, wonder if they know I am a better, more equipped, grateful human for their journey.
I am aghast to look back at all that history and hurt and confusion I waded through in that month and marvel that love and hope did and will eventually creep back through the slats of a broken, cobbled together heart.
I am grateful my heart stopped beating like that, for the most part.
I am back to riding and loving my bike.
I have no idea what the kid's costume will be...again.
I face another year, it hiding under some mask.
Last year's costume is forever handed down, suddenly too small, exposed... we move on, with slight trepidation at what's behind this year's mask.