Prayer for a Normal Day
let me be aware of the treasure you are.
Let me learn from you, love you,
bless you before you depart.
Let me not pass by in quest
of some rare and perfect tomorrow.
Let me hold you while I may,
for it may not always be so.
One day I shall dig my nails into the earth,
or bury my face in the pillow,
or stretch myself taut,
or raise my hands to the sky and want,
more than all the world, your return.
Mary Jean Iron
I saw this quote over at the uber talented Orange County Photog, Tara Whitney's blog.
What I would blog about, on a normal day, is not what is on my mind or in my heart today. I am finding, the longer I try to squelch whatever words are on my fingertips, the longer the rest of my words come to a complete stop.
So feel free to skip right past reading on these days when I am a "Debbie Downer..." Just know I am okay, but being real. I have always turned to the written word to make sense of my world.
But, did you know you all help? Every heartfelt comment or email brings a measure of comfort. Every offer of help, every offer of listening or just being there, it all helps. All of the prayers? I feel Dad, and myself, and my family being covered in prayer.
In case I forget to tell you, seeing all the ways you show up to tell me I am not alone, it all helps.
I wake up to find my head is throbbing... I trudge through the day, breakfast, school bus, shower, hospital, Target, school bus, hockey, baseball, hockey, baseball, bed, bed, bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I am here.
And I am not here. I try to soak in the peace and solitude of being alone for one last quiet morning of blogging. I am preparing. I've purged our closets, sorted out the drawers, donated all of the too small clothes, that were bought just a little too big, not long ago.
Its the last day of school. I long for it, I dread it.
I've stocked up on sunscreen, bug spray, swim shorts, and gatorade. We made travel plans. We're going to hockey camp, baseball tournaments, Junior Golf lessons, swimming lessons.
I am ready.
I am not ready.
We brought Dad home yesterday. It is good to be home. It doesn't resemble home.
Its a house in the midst of being packed up. We're moving... they are moving. 44 years of life packed up in cardboard. It seems suddenly so unimportant to be moving.
I am hopeful they will like their new place. Its big and roomy, with lots of light, and its all brand new. Even the dishwasher. It's my mother's first one in 74 years.
I am doubtful.
He may not want to go. I don't know if he wants to go to the new place. He railed against my mother yesterday. Who is this showing up? He does not want morphine. He does not want more nursing care. He does not want the furniture rearranged. He doesn't rail, normally, he doesn't rail.
He wants to decide. He will decide. We will let him decide.
its a new normal...