I suppose it's pregnancy hormones or the winter blues. It just feels extra cold and dark in every way lately and then when hard things happen, they feel extra hard. My thoughts get too heavy behind my eyes and then I just can't pick up the book or the phone or write it out or play slap jack again. Or go downstairs for the laundry.
Something strange is happening though, because I don't feel like a horrible person or even a horrible mother over it. This is new. Usually I'm very very good at the guilty thoughts that make it even worse.
The boys and I watched part of Harry and the Hendersons yesterday. I had completely forgotten that movie, since it's from the 80's and that means it's been a while. I forgot that the beginning is kind of scary, with this big hairy guy that looks like a monster getting hit by the family car and all that.
Asher reached over and took my hand and pulled it over his other hand and he whispered, Mommy, keep touching me.
So I did, as long as he needed, I did.
It didn't take long for him to not need the grasping. He went on to laugh at Harry, the furry family friend, and forgot his fear. And I thought about how we all need that. We all need just a moment from each other, to just show up for the being together while the hard feelings swing through again, whatever the reason is that they came.
We just need a touch.
This week held something really hard and I wish I could fight to make sense of it, to write about it, but I can't. It's not my story to tell and it's not coming out right anyway. I think maybe I wanted to write and write until I wrote something so profound that it made everything make sense for all who are grieving...but there is so much that doesn't make sense and so I'm choosing to accept that rather than believe the lie that I always have the answers in me somewhere and I'll find them, if only I think long and hard enough. Sure, there are answers, to many things, but there are none for many things, too. And maybe that's okay.
I'm learning not to fight to know what to say or to fix or control. I'm learning not to do that because it feels desperate and false and it tries to steal mystery and grace. And I usually really mess things up, when I pretend at knowing what to do or say or be. Because all I really need to do is to show up, to stop pretending, and to extend my hand for the touch.
To say I don't know either
and then just love.
Until it passes
again and again