I feel I’m in the trenches of life. Experiencing discomfort, growing pains, perspective and disillusionment to the fullest. Life is hard. I lost my perspective of joy. But I cling onto the hope that everything I suffer will birth the passion of my next chapter. I am passionate about so many things. I polish my skills on the run, one shoe off, half adequately equipped, I’m too cold, too hot, the pants rub the wrong way, my toes hurt but I keep running my race, hoping for that rest stop, to drink some water, wipe the sweat.
I resent motherhood. My eldest needs me and needs independence. She drops the ball one day and another she throws it over the fence. And it’s the only ball we have to play with. I cry. Instead of yell or spank. And she says it’s more uncomfortable to see me cry. Than if I yelled at her. Interesting fact. At least I feel better after crying than after yelling.
I am completely exhausted but I get up and keep doing what I need to do, in hopes that I’ll completely disappear from too much work. Conrad says that these are passive suicidal thoughts. It is what it is. I wholeheartedly serve, push beyond my physical and mental limits, and I think that death would be sweet release from exhaustion and I’ll be able to rest. Or that those around me will finally see or appreciate all that I do. I have a strong hope in eternity and God and my purpose on this earth. I’m eerily self aware and calm and exhausted. In a way that I don’t regret the end of the world. My heart is not too attached to earthly things.
When Conrad seems to be in sudden pain, it triggers fear about his overall health and cancer, and then I have one regret. That I didn’t fully enjoy his company while he is still alive and well and with us. And instead I wallowed in desperation before time. That brings me back to the present. And though the circumstances don’t change, I take a deep breath and I try to appreciate the present, and thus be present.