its been an indescribable period of time, this year i'm in -my fourth decade. my introduction to the realities of death was pretty fierce and fire-filled and while it may be that way for every single person, i am still in the sway of shock, i think. the consideration of the mortality of every single thing that I love is too much with me, and I am reeling on a daily basis, and feeling altogether acquainted with the mid-life crisis vibe.. where am i going? how did i get here? is it relevant? here i am, right now, how do i get through the minutes, the afternoons, aware that it all ends in death. ? i know it sounds morbid, and overly dramatic, but there it is, how does one grapple death to the ground, deal with the futility of the knowing ... notice the caterpillars, the butterflies, acknowledge the incredible beauty in their unbelievably short lives, and then complain about baseball tournaments on my birthday or socks on the kitchen floor?
the baseball tournament didn't happen, my birthday did. i did not use the paper like i hoped, i carried the journal with me often, unused and uncracked, i read some, visited the library, dropped off a bag i'd been looking to be rid of for over a year. . . the socks for sure were on the kitchen floor, and outside by the trampoline...and under the sofa... but now it is summer and there is no need for socks so the irritation at their sight will dissipate for almost 60 days...
the kids went away for two nights, hubsJ and i stayed at a hotel one night as per my sister's swagliciousness, and we stayed home the next night. it was indescribably marital. it was so very nice, so liberating to get along most of the time, to relax in my own house to such an extent i could actually nap. nap! and laugh... and stay up late...
how does one - why does one abdicate so much of one's personal responsibility in a marriage? i read pam's essay over at Walking on My Hands and it was so resonant, for such different reasons, but again, part of my year of turning 40, and turning and turning and turning. . .
i am watching my mother learn and re-learn thousands of details of life each day and month as she navigates all those things that 'dad used to do'... and how grief keeps her moving, and i'm not sure that is enough. and i have so much worry, and many days when i can't face her because of it.
and i wonder about my own marriage and the days i abdicate my responsibilities and ... i'm not sure thats the same as teamwork. it surely doesn't feel like it. , though i feel the loss of my dependence on anyone else, magnifying the loss of my dad. in the marriage, the exhaustion of the navigation of obligations, 'having to do it all vs. being able to do it all...
what grace we grant each other, or don't.
the heaviness of disappointment in one's self for the stumbling pace ... the overwhelming pound per pound pressure of self-judgement. blagh.
i'm reading : sue monk kidd, when the heart waits... a midlife crisis book for sure, she's christian-ish with a focus on waiting in prayer of all sorts... waiting as the place where all the action actually happens...
and : madeleine l'engle... the year of the great-grandmother... part two of her crosswicks memoir, this one about caring for her dementia-bound mother over one summer...
and i'd like to have a stride, a pace... or at least to believe that i could develop one that helped me keep my breath.. and in the desire, i am going to tuck a kernel of hope. a mustard seed, if you will.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
I'm 40 now. and the month of June.
Posted by Kate Hall at 11:03 AM
Labels: hope and family, husbands, mothering and hiding, prayer, self
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2 comments:
Happy Birth Day. May it usher in new things and reacquaint you with old ones. Sock freedom is a glorious type of freedom.
You. And your writing. Love it.
Happy birthday.
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