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Have you ever had one of those moments when something just whacks you right between the eyes? Something so completely out of the blue, so utterly unexpected that you thought, “How did I get hit by a curve-ball? I didn’t even know I was playing!”
Sometimes, those surprises can be great. Awesome really. Like finding out you won an award that you weren’t expecting. Or getting a job offer for a position for which you never applied.
Other times, it really feels like you got hit between the eyes with a curve-ball. It hurts. It’s bewildering. You’re skipping along on the sidewalk of life and then….WHAM….you’re laid out on the concrete seeing little cartoon birds circling your head.
Then, all you can think is, “Where did THAT come from??”
Now what? How do I handle that? Do I ask for clarification? Nope. Don’t want to do that. One hit was enough. It was bad enough learning I was playing baseball when I got hit by that curve-ball. I have no desire to find out I’m really in a boxing ring and it’s only Round 1.
Do I even publish this and risk questions being asked? Yep. After all, that’s why I write this, to be cathartic; to (hopefully) answer some questions on my own; to get rid of the negative feelings; to work through some issues. If I can’t do that, then there isn’t any point in writing. Writing always helps. Well, usually. I’m not sure about this time. I may obsess a little longer. Okay, a lot longer.
I can always answer vaguely. After all, the pitcher of this curve-ball has no idea of the concussion I now have.
So let me give you a piece of advice……..try to always wear your batting helmets. You never know when you’re going to need it.
I’ve lost family members before. I’ve lost friends. I’ve lost people to old age, sickness, and suicide. It always hurts. But I have to be honest, losing my mom hurts the worst. It’s been two years, eight months and I still miss her…..
A friend lost her mom just a couple of months ago. I told her I knew what she was going through. I told her to just breath. Just breathe through this second. Then the next second. Then it would be a minute. An hour. A day. A month. Great advice. I wish I could follow it.
Some days, I still can’t function. All I can do is cry. And miss her. The pain is so excruciating, it feels like someone is sitting on my chest. I CAN’T breathe. All I can do is sob. My throat closes up. I CAN’T breathe.
It’s like I lost her yesterday.
It’s like I lost her this morning.
It’s like I just lost her now.
It hurts that bad.
But eventually, I can breathe again. I still miss her. I still ache. I still have a huge hole in me that feels like an abyss with no bottom.
So I breathe……..
And I hope that this Christmas won’t be so bad. I hope that her next birthday won’t hurt as much. I hope that next Mother’s Day I’ll be able to stay home and enjoy my boys instead of fleeing town for the weekend like a coward, then coming back and trying to celebrate with my boys and actually smile instead of spending the day fighting back tears and praying my children don’t notice.
And I hope.
And I pray.
I miss you, Mom.
I was scrolling through Facebook earlier (yes, I should have been working, but I was taking a short break) and came across a post from a friend of mine:
“Every year around Valentines Day there is one of our doctors that gives everyone who works here a long stemmed rose. “Because every woman deserves a rose on Valentine’s Day” This doctor is off tomorrow so they were passing them out today. Guess who they looked at and kept walking by???? Yeah me. True story.”
WHY??? What was the point of this? To make her feel small? To embarrass her?
All they really succeeded in doing was making me MAD!! Seriously. I promptly ordered her some flowers and had them delivered today with a card that said they were from “Someone who thinks you’re Pretty Special.” Now, yes, she know I sent them. But her co-workers don’t. 🙂 They just see some beautiful red tulips (because EVERYONE gets roses! I had to be different) on her desk.
Yes, part of me wanted to rub it in their faces. They got A rose. She got a bouquet of tulips.
I didn’t like the way they made her feel — or how I imagine she felt — because I’ve felt that way.
But she is NOT any of those things. She is WONDERFUL. She’s Smart. Witty. Funny. Wicked (in the best possible way). Beautiful, inside and out. She’d drop anything and everything for her friends and family.
She goes out of her way to make people feel cared for. Included. Important.
For these “women” to try to take that away from her just made my blood boil!!!
L. has been a great friend to my husband for a long time (no, we’re NOT doing that math), and (lucky for me) extended that friendship to me, even though she barely knows me.
She is Awesome! I hope she doesn’t let their pettiness get to her. There are people who believe in her. Who know just how Important she is. How Kind. Generous. Compassionate. Loyal. Gorgeous. And certainly more of a Woman than her co-workers will ever be.
Mean Girls may get older, but clearly they Never Grow Up.
A few months ago, my husband (whom I love very much…..usually) talked me into our family joining a local Shotokan dojo. While I have enjoyed it, I admit that I’m not as enthusiastic as my husband and sons have been. Honestly, it was exercise that wasn’t completely torturous.
We had our first Rank Advancement Test then. (note the Capital Letters!) Well, I knew all the kicks, the stances, the blocks, the katas. Maybe I’m not perfect, but my competitive spirit hasn’t really kicked in yet. However, I felt sure I could pass this and get to Yellow from the lowly white belt. Okay, okay. It’s not like I was testing for black. I know, you’re saying, “Yellow?? Really? That’s EASY!!”
Maybe for You!
I have now discovered muscles I forgot I had, in places I forgot had muscles. And let me tell you, they are ALL telling me what fun they did NOT have moving in ways and for lengths of time that they would much rather have been at home cleaning instead of doing Shotokan. And for me to rather be cleaning house? Well, let’s just say it’s rare I want to do anything that involves housecleaning. I’d rather watch paint dry.
So, the short version of this story is this: I have discovered that I am OLD. I’m out of shape. And I’m lucky I can still walk after Saturday. I’m still sore.
But IF I get my Yellow Belt, then I just might re-evaluate. I just MIGHT decide that even though I’m old and out of shape, maybe…..just maybe…..I’d rather be at the dojo than cleaning house.
If I passed, I just might have to start exercising and stretching to limber up these dishrags I call muscles. I just might have to turn them into something that can at least fake being younger and in better shape.
I usually turn K-Love on my computer while I’m working. I was sitting here in my office, kinda in a funk, and Mandisa’s song, “Overcomer” started playing. I know everyone loves this song, most of you for the same reason I do. It gives me hope.
In a world where I can’t hear the voice of God, she tells me he speaks to me through the little things.
In a world where I can’t feel His presence, she tells me He IS there listening.
In a wold where I often want to give up because it’s Just Too Hard!, she tells me to just hang on. He’s there.
In a world where I think “I Can’t.” She tells me “You Can!”
Sometimes this song cheers me up. I feel encouraged. I feel stronger. I feel happier. I feel more confident.
Sometimes this song makes me want to cry. I feel ashamed for not having faith. I feel guilty for not trying harder.
Then I try to look back. I see all I have been through. I see God in the little things. I see where He gave me strength. He must have, because I certainly couldn’t have gotten through it without Him. I see where I was hopeless, but the dark eventually ended. I see where He had to let me learn my own lessons when I wouldn’t listen to Him.
And I straighten my spine. I try to ignore the dark thoughts I know aren’t mine. And I make myself realize, I Am An Overcomer. I may not be Robin Roberts, or Mandisa, or any of those people we have all seen struggle through so many tragedies, but I’ve had my own rocky paths to traverse, my own ravines to drag myself out of. He WAS there. He DID help.
Thank you, Mandisa, for making me realize this.
Thank You, God. I don’t say it enough, but Thank You. You have given me so many blessings that I don’t deserve. Strength, patience, a husband who loves me and who I love more than life itself, two boys who exasperate me endlessly, but I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. I had given up hope of having children. You gave my my family.
Thank You. From the bottom of my heart and soul…….Thank You.