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| (This is how I’ve felt all week . . .like I’m all alone on top of a mountain without anyone for about twenty gazillion miles) |
I’m listening to an iTunes mix “Virtual Hug.”
That’s where I am. I miss them—hugs—so much that I am forced to listen to a mix that is supposed to make me feel hugged. So far, not so much, but I really appreciate the effort.
I don’t even know why it’s so hard. I mean, so many families not only have quarantine but they’re fighting this horrible sickness that debilitated them. It’s the worst. And I feel so so so bad for them. So far, we’ve been so lucky and I know it. I’m lucky in a bazillion ways and I know that, but it’s still hard.
When I get out (it literally feels sort of like a prison sentence), I am going to make up little treat bags to drop off to all the quarantined families (oh, it’s real here, so real and happening). The little drop offs, notes and text, well, lets just say, they make me cry. They mean everything.
The best part was when one of my dear friends, who dropped off dinner, came over, she hugged each and every one of us. She had covid a month ago and was immune. Honestly, best hug of my life! We all stood in line. I should have grabbed a second one!
Everything makes me cry these days. It’s like my ice cold heart has been chipped at enough that now it’s just a soft squishy thing that I feel everything times a thousand. I feel like the Grinch. Really, my heart has grown twenty times in just a few days. Tears well up and overflow so easily.
Today, I dropped off a little something for Hero, Chloe, and Jenn. I knocked but no one came to the door, so I was just getting in the car when Henry answered the door. I stood twenty feet back, but Chloe and Hero came to the door and when Hero started yelling and reaching for us, Chloe ran in and put the cutest little boots on Hero’s feet and let her walk towards us. She beamed and flapped her arms then stretched them out to me and ran, literally ran to me. Her little arms reaching towards me and her face almost breaking with such a big smile.
I had to step back and away from her, telling her how much I loved her but I couldn’t hold her. Her little face got so confused so she turned to John who was next to me, he had to dodge her too and then she turned to Piper who was standing beside us and ran at her. Piper played hide and seek but also wouldn’t pick her up. She just stood there with her little face full of hurt and sadness. She walked over to Henry and wrapped her arms around his legs. Henry tossed her high in the air to distract her (totally worked), but still, she looked at us wondering what was wrong. None of us could take it anymore so we jumped in the car, waving and telling them how much we loved them, we drove away. I, of course, cried. I miss my baby girl. I miss all of them. BAD.
I haven’t seen my mama in person for almost two weeks and John’s parents for almost a month.
We had a mask visit with Celia today because she was just too sad to not see us. I cried leaving her too. Darn it.
My sister distracted me yesterday by a taking me on a socially distanced hike (turns out, you just can’t hike that close together) and there is no one on the trails (honestly passed three people all day—very very far away from them)
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Look at her! 53 and totally hiked a 11000ft mountain like it was nothing. My. Hero!
We hiked up Box Elder.
Almost at the top, as I was looking at that darn peak that seems to get farther and farther away as you hike up, I saw two women hopping around in a strange tribal dance sort of way and heard snippets of their laughter and singing. Maybe a rain dance (oh how desperately we need it)? I hoped it was a stop the Covid dance. Surly, that close to God, He could hear them. Please let Him hear them—even if not Covid, I’ll take the rain, I prayed as I hiked to them.
When I got to the top and turned around and around, 360 degrees of mountain tops and rolling hills and cities and houses far below me, the sun so close and warm above me, I thought, I don’t have any dance in my legs. I don’t have any words inside me. I just am focusing right now on breathing (which is really hard—you climb 1500 ft in a mile).
My sister came up beside me and together we stood and found my house and tried to flash (not that kind of flash—where is your mind?) John with our phones (a trick my dad taught me when he’d climb Ennis Peak behind our houses) and miracles of miracles, he could see us. We called my dad and tried to flash him, but I wasn’t quite as sure I knew where their house was. He couldn’t see it, but he was tickled we’d tried and you could hear in his voice he wished so badly he was on that mountain with us. Next time, we promised him.
We signed our names in the book and then hiked back down. Doreen’s beautiful optimism and joy and love of the mountains carried us both down through the canyons and fields and forests and ups and downs.
I realized, she is carrying me. I’m physically walking down this mountain, but emotionally, she is carrying me down. I am strong. I don’t often have to be carried, but lately, I am leaning hard on the goodness of everyone around me.
Last night, I got to watch the balance of the universe happen right in front of me. I would get a call of heart-break or struggles from one child and three minutes later, and I’m not kidding literally three minutes later, I’d get a call or text with joy and love or understanding in it from another beloved friend or loved one. I kept thinking of that saying, the universe has a way of balancing out.
By the end of the night, despite all the beautiful, I had this moment as I was getting into bed, so tired, soo tired, where I felt so so empty and so sad, I was just about done. My heart, it was all smooshed and my mind, it ran all the ways and reasons I’d failed on a repeating loop. More than anything else I wanted to get into my car and drive right to my babies and hug my sad, sick, worried, and overwhelmed selves tight in my mama arms. But I couldn’t. Worst feeling EVER. I thought, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. It’s too hard. And yep, I cried.
But as I was sitting there, a lot broken and hopeless, I had this God moment. In the middle of what was basically a wee bit of a break-down, He granted me this really amazing moment of grace—one I’m still holding onto. I quiet felt this calmness spread over me and knew that even if I wasn’t there to hug and hold and ease my children, they were not alone. Someone greater than me, someone who knew them even better than me and loved them even more than me, was caring for them. And they would be ok. Trust that. They would be ok.
I took a deep breath, applied a lot of faith, and chose to believe it and to feel the truth in it.
In this world Covid is distancing us like CRAZY, I think we all need to cling to the idea, however we conceive it, that there is this greater power—whatever you call it—that is able to do what we cannot. It is able to hold and heal and comfort and inspire and direct and teach and do so much more than we could even think of doing fo those far from us.
Even me, He calmed my very troubled heart and gave me peace and reminded me that the universe does indeed have a way of balancing everything out. Trust in that. Trust in the goodness of human kindness and that everything will indeed be ok. It’s been my prayer for so many of you and now it’s come back to me. Karma. God. The Universe. I couldn’t help wondering who was praying for me—feeling far away and wishing they could help but couldn’t, so they too relied on a Greater Force to bring me comfort and peace? It worked. Thank you.
And before you think I’ve spent all my time crying, I want you to know that I’ve been productive too (between little bouts of tears). I’ve gone through a quarter of my book on my final edits (are there ever final edits?) and used up the garage of final garden produce and apples Doreen’s renter had given us.
Soo after many days of trying to finish Netflix’s and YouTube and feeling very blah by the end of each day, I decreed we must be at least a tiny bit productive.
And so . . .
Apple sauce with protective quarantine gear got made. . .
And pickle making . . .
(Yes, our cucumbers were VERY strange shaped—but delicious)
And Ofrenda Making for Spanish class
His great-grampa Rasmussen (oh how I miss him!)
And last but not least, crock pot marinara sauce (surprisingly good)
And here’s your Easter egg if you made it this far . . .
Me . . . Finding balance in all the crazy . . . Zoom in, I am balancing on the worlds tiniest rock. It was a miracle. That and the fact that we made it up and down the mountain safely. There was a close moment when Doreen was sliding and falling down this steep (like almost sheer wall) that I had this superhuman strength. I spread my arms and speared both my poles (a must on this mountain) on either side of me and braced and caught her (by tripping her into me). Wheph. Gradian angels are REAL.
This is basically the part, only there weren’t so many trees. .. sooo steep!
She’s the best . . . AND so is Hero . . .
Back in the days when we could hold her . . .
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