How bizarre it is. As the minutes of screaming from Lochlan turned into hours today, I felt the energy, the hope, the raw stamina drain away, like it was being siphoned out of me. This morning, I felt energized, ready to take on the mountains of laundry, teaching the boys, managing the household, putting out the fires that creep into life, and I felt mostly prepared to continue the daily juggling act. School was a success, speech therapy was a win, and I even managed to accomplish the 387 tasks that followed. When Lochlan started screaming after lunch (there is no obvious reason - it appears to be a new fixation) and shouted the same words for almost 4 hours straight, I recognized the reprieve we've had for so many months with almost no screaming. I've, unfortunately, adapted to the reprieve. I suppose I will adapt, once again, to this new season. The very internal response was mirrored by a concrete physical response, and I forced myself to take a hike up my hill tonight as the sun was descending. I didn't feel like walking... I just wanted to curl into a tiny ball and experience the luxury of disappearing.
It's the hard things - the impossible things - that give us perspective, understanding, appreciation, and build into us strength that does not come from inside ourselves. Sometimes, the impossible forces us to grow in places that are intensely uncomfortable. It always forces us to realize our own limitations. It brings out the very best and the deplorable in each of us. As I try to cope and live reasonably in an unreasonable situation, sometimes it feels like I step away from myself and watch from the outside, like a fly on the wall. I know this is just a way that I process the agony of the moment(s), the way I resolve within myself what cannot be resolved. It's the way I find peace where peace is unattainable and grapple with the sorrow - sorrow for the suffering my boys endure, for what I cannot change, for the struggle that Lochlan faces each and every day, and sorrow for what could be and isn't. Each of us grieve and grow in our unique way(s).
This is my struggle, my battle, my "impossible". We each have our own and sometimes we feel truly alone in carrying it. But, I do not believe I'm alone - deeply I KNOW that I am not alone. Tomorrow is another day - probably a long one. And it is a day that I will choose to face with hope in my heart, with joy because it is another day that has been given to me to live. As I wandered upon my hill tonight, the Greatest Painter began yet another masterpiece. I sat below my tree and watched it come to life and I had tears of joy streaming down my face. What a gift! What a lesson in beauty. What a reminder that I see so little of the whole picture.
Keep my eyes open that I might see, even when I am stumbling in the darkness.
