Sunday, March 29: In harmony with my heart
Virtual church at 11-ish. Pilates and worship. Coffee with my Sweet. I’m grateful for his enthusiasm in making my perfect cup. I have been working on the right lyrics that are in harmony with my heart. Simon and Garfunkel always have space in my struggles. But they must be interspersed with strength of the human spirit, and the hope of worship. My heart is tender towards key words: shelter, isolation, hidden, breath…
Walking makes me feel better, and alone. The city is quiet and desolate with pockets of families huddled together.
We are defined by our safe people and everyone else. Who are the people bio-connected to each other? What about those who live alone? Who are their bio-connected “we”?
Following news out of Detroit. Things are exponentially worse. The Henry Ford hospital is where my hematologist of 15 years lives. My babies were born there. It is a state of emergency.
Michigan seems like a dream to me now… I’ve come to look for America… Michigan feels like a dream to me, too, Simon & Garfunkel.
The Value of Closure
I am struggling with closure. Some things have ended abruptly and I find they wreck me more emotionally than they would at another time. My resilience is thin. With tears, it’s best to sleep on it. If my resilience is thin, others’ is too. God, help me to see as you see.
Strong for my people. Rest. Prayer. I am ready to take a small courageous step towards healthy closure in uncertainty. Courage is fear prayed up. Yup.
Monday, March 30: It’s okay not to be okay
Ella is in tears. She feels socially limited in the middle of her brother and sister. She has done everything we have thought to do at home by lunchtime. Aimlessness brings sadness.
She needs her middle school peeps. I tell her it’s okay to cry. It’s okay not to be okay.
Magic in the little things—a fixed bike, fresh berries and a can of whipped cream. Zoe and Ella set off on a park adventure of their own. Then we make lentil soup. I see her perk up just a little.
It’s okay not to be okay.
Jamin’s new tetherball arrives from Amazon. Steve and Jamin head to his school to hook it up to the pole there. Jamin is that 5th grader—the one who has prayed for school to end since it started. He is in a happy place.
My walks get longer and more emotional as I listen through my varied lyrics. I am weak. I am strong. It feels like winter and loneliness. I rise up. I have breath. I shelter in with people I love dearly.
It helps to have purpose and set baby goals…
I have a little space in my emotional reserves to follow up my concern for my refugee neighbor friends. I check in and brought Legos for the littles (after running them through the dishwasher). I inadvertently photobombed their cute family pic—at a distance.
Seeing their faces made my heart happy. 😊
I walk in the rain and the sunshine. I am oscillating. Laughing. Crying. Purposefulness. Aimlessness. Weight of the world. Isolation. Safety. And Fear.
Everyone check in with someone, ok?
Celebrating my small mom victories. My kids seem more settled. Cake pops made. Tetherball played. Lentil soup is perfectly seasoned comfort food—reminiscent of homemade dhal from a past season of life and friendship.
Brother, let me be your shelter
Never leave you all alone
I can be the one you call when you’re low. NeedtoBreathe
I hug my people. I have people to touch and kiss. We pray together anticipating the new day. The new school schedule. A plan. A purpose. We pray that summer camp won’t be canceled.
Tuesday, March 31: Collecting scattered thoughts
Everyone sets an alarm. Online school is starting, and we have family implementation plans in place. Ella is chattery about her teachers and friends. Her eyes light up. Jamin is moaning but following the plan. Zoe persists with vigor in all her endeavors. Steve’s virtual work continues per usual. I write 3 new virtual meetings set on my empty calendar.
Time to write. To think. To be alone with my thoughts in my bustling home. Interruptions are frequent. Flexibility of this new norm.
Clarity of thought. Processing negative emotions in healthy ways. Moving forward.
Deep breath. I will turn on the news.
Physical goals: Engage my core muscles more often—to that end, wear less leggings and more regular pants. Walk a little further. Add a few extra sit ups, crunches, or pushups each time I do some. Baby steps in physical exercise make me feel like I can control something. And move forward in something.
Wednesday, April 1: Tears are my superpower
Aimlessness is real.
Scheduling is helpful.
Technology is frustrating.
Closure…find closure where you can on even the little things, since so many things ended or were put on pause so abruptly.
Zoe and I enjoy the show: Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist. Episode 8—Zoey’s Extraordinary Glitch—was so embarrassingly awkward. The main character can’t stop herself from bursting out in song to express her deep, undealt with emotions.
I courageously show up for my meeting to find closure, and I cry through the second half of it. I guess I’m still not ok and it’s going to come out somewhere—like Zoey does with song and dance in the show, I do with tears. Closure on this one thing feels good and right and satisfying. But I’m still crying. Awkward, but unapologetic. Express gratitude. Everyone’s resilience is thin. It’s okay not to be okay.
Rollerblading with my girls is a sweet time on a beautiful day. Normal, not normal. Strange, not strange. No one is out. Everyone is distant on a college campus in spring. I feel simultaneously content and overwhelmed. We go about our days distancing, while others can’t breathe. And others die. How does closure come for loved ones who experience loss?
At the end of the day I’m both relieved and bummed that there were no innovative April Fool’s jokes going on at our house. Not in a place to create and laugh and bounce back just yet.
Thursday, April 2: Wearing mascara doesn’t prevent tears
Time to face my fledgling teaching plan. A meeting with my boss. I teach adults. Moms like me who show up to my English language class after their kids are settled in school. I can just barely settle my kids to move forward with a plan of any kind. I barely have a moment to catch up with my own thoughts and emotions… innovation is measly and uninterrupted minutes to wade through emails and move towards problem-solving are things from that other life realm.
Deep breath. Grateful for the closure I found yesterday. Like the strategy for debt snowball—knocking out smaller debts first.
Moving forward.
It’s okay not to be okay. But it’s not okay to cry in this team meeting with my boss. Maybe mascara will help prevent tears.
I choose Pilates and prayer over fine-tooth-comb reading all the pertinent email strings before my meeting.
Deep breath, again. In for 3, out for 4.
🎶 And I’ll rise up…
I’ll rise up
In spite of the ache
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
For you… 🎶
Innovation, momentum, problem-solving and resilience—in short supply. Like ventilators for patients and masks for healthcare workers.
Mascara does not help prevent displaced tears in zoom meetings. But actively turning off video or audio as needed provides a sense of control over the little things.
And having a boss who hears you… doesn’t prevent tears either.
It’s cold today. There is no mustering of motivation to run the track. No energy to even think about trying to psych myself up for more than a cold, grey walk.
Listening to Simon and Garfunkel and remembering that time when I was on an island. And I missed my boat. And I cried about it… 😭💕🏝
🎶 I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room,
safe within my womb
I touch no one and no one touches me
I am a rock
I am an island
And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries 🎶
Islands are surrounded by salt water… you would never know if they were crying.
Overwhelmed and grateful. I am definitely not an island.
On My Mind 