Out in the garden where we planted the seeds, There is a tree as old as me.

 

I swear every year when it gets close to my birthday I start this period of reflection. Of the choices I’ve made and where my path has lead me in the year prior. My mortality becomes ever present and hits me in the chest so hard. Like I’m being told to pay attention. Not to forget just how sweet life can be, and how bitter it can be just the same.

I’ve seen so much sorrow in my life, and even in the last year of my life I’ve felt pain I’ve never known. The ending of something I thought would be lifelong. Having to be truthful with myself. Like, GUTCHECKINGLY honest. That’s tough guys. To be that honest with yourself hurts. I wanted my marriage to work. I really did. I also had a lot of feelings in my heart early on that it wasn’t going to. I willed my way forward in something that didn’t feel totally right because I believed in us both. I think that’s what some call being blinded by your feelings.

The ugliness that came out of the person I knew hurt the most I think when it came to myself. It tore me down more than I ever thought possible. It was a lot to process. What hurt more than anything else, and still does, is trying to help my son understand. He still doesn’t fully get it, and that may take a while. We are looking at therapy for him. What a blow right? Not only did I feel like I failed at being married but as a parent. I know many will say that’s not true, and I know in time I’ll accept it. I just never want him to feel pain or dejection. That boy has brought more to me in life than I could ever explain to him. He’s my baby boy. He always will be.

So now home has changed, into something different. Something beautiful and unexpected. In truth I’m not sure how to deal with a lot of what’s inside me right now but I know that my heart, mind, and God will help me with those things. I struggle a lot. I am so very limited compared to what I once was. Physically, mentally, and in general. There are so many things I want to be again but I just can’t. Being trapped inside myself is something I’m going to have to learn to deal with. It’s a process of grief on it’s own. The mourning of what I once was. I lose a little more of me every year.

Ever since my conversion and embracing God in my life I feel pulled magnetically forward toward certain things though. The path is often tough but wow the outcomes are so beautiful and marvelous. The risks are so difficult, but I feel like that level of mortality I have allows me to let go and do what I feel I must. Get out of my own way if that makes sense? When I do the rewards I am given are so incredible I feel I may burst at times.

When I wake up, even though I am often in pain or still tired, I take a few groggy blinks around and realize where I am, and smile. There are so few days that I feel heavy. My heart is filled with joy, even though I know I have to drag my way to the bathroom and take a literal handful of pills and wait for them to kick in for me to move around more. Even though my son will want me to pick him up and I’ll have to tell him I can’t, but instead I’ll sit down and let him crawl in my lap (which at five years old he’s getting a bit big for but I dread the day he can’t anymore.). Some days I wake and Matt isn’t up yet and I get to put a hand on his face with the peeks of the sunlight in the morning shining on his cheeks. His lips perk up into a smile and I touch my forehead to his and just drink in the silence and breath him in before we have to get out of our bed.

There has been a great deal of pain in my life, and I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I try not to ask, I try not to think about it. What I do know is this. My life is beautiful, in the now. Even with all the flaws, pain, and difficulty of functioning. I am surrounded by love, joy, and happiness. The business of living and time passing, which it does so quickly. Six months has gone by in the literal blink of an eye. I want to live in it and take every single moment I have in my life and make it extraordinary to whatever degree I am able. For me that may mean coloring pictures in the basement playroom with my little man while we make crazy lion noises. Or watching from the couch as Matt lifts him up and fly’s him around the living room and gives him strong hugs just one more time before he has to go to work. I’m going to do my very best not to forget that these times are so important. I’ve got to hold on to them all.

 

Shari

 

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