Simply Complicated

Last night I went to sleep thinking, ‘Tomorrow, I’m going to work on a happy/light post for the blog!” That exclamation point was overkill, I wasn’t that exuberant for God sakes. Not to say that I’m unenthusiastic about blogging, I really am. I love the fact that letters strung together to create words, which can become phrases and sentences- or just stand alone, and evoke a myriad of feelings, sentiments and emotions from a reader. I have loved the sight of words on paper, and the sound of them in my ear since…forever, I think.

Unfortunately, something happened in those hours between last night and this day that caused me to wake with a hint, then a wave of anxiety.( If this has or does happen to you, you know how it is.. before your eyes even register the still dark but familiar objects that surround you, there’s a flutter in your chest. You try to calm it, because the flutter becomes a ripple, that becomes cave in. It reminds me of that first drop on a rollercoaster, but instead of feeling your stomach drop, it’s your chest. At least for me, that’s how it is.) Immediately I try to think of why, why am I feeling this? What did I dream about? Ah, yes, strange dreams. Check one. But what else? There must be more. Walking Dead season premiere? Well, that did make me anxious. Maybe it’s nothing. But, it must  be something.

And then it comes. A Mother’s Worry. Particularly (for me) A Mother of Children Who are Out of the House Worry. I can’t see them, I can’t walk down the hall and check on them, I don’t know if they’re alright. I know longer have control of their surroundings, their choices, their safety. I am untethered from them, and it makes me seasick. I think about them getting hurt, scared, sad… worse… and my not being there with them. Ah, yes, there lies the source of my panic. It’s not new, it’s just shifted into a new shape.

I realize: I will write this…this angst away, today. Now. The clouds have remained throughout the day, giving no chance of relieving this melancholy mood. It frustrates me, when I feel this way. Because, truly? Everything is fine. I am fine. I am more than that, actually. I’m energized, I’m excited, I’m the most peaceful and fulfilled version of me, ever. I mean, holy shit… I’m only 42 years old, and I have this huge second act that I am going to enjoy the hell out of, with- and here’s the clincher- with my very bestest friend! I’m so freaking drunk on my good fortune!

But….

I keep thinking, My, God. I’ve spend nearly all of my adult life, up until three months ago, with my primary purpose being a Mom Who Is Needed- how does one be Mom Who Visits (or Gets Visited). Is this good, bad, or merely different? It’s D) all of the above. It’s all three at any given moment, and sometimes all at once. It’s as liberating as it is heartbreaking. Suddenly, there’s an abundance of time. We can do anything, or nothing. We don’t “check in”. Groceries are so different going from two plus a teen, to just two adults. We are  ‘A Couple’ .

My sweet husband, always thoughtful and sensitive, but particularly since the youngest left the nest, regularly checks in on how I’m feeling, how I’m coping. He asks, already knowing the answers, so as to help me force the words out that I keep tucking away and pouring into projects, or plans, or blogs about anything but this. He knows that words on paper, for me, are so much easier than words aloud. He reminds me to breath, he lets me feel my way through, because he is doing the same.  Sometimes I think he’s magic. I don’t even question how he knows just what to say, or do, every time. I just appreciate it. Alas, nothing can derail these thoughts, these moments. These moments suck. Simple as that. I miss my kids. Simple as that.

But…

I’ve loved every single stage. From newborn tiny toes and tiny nose, to yes, yes, even the teen years. And even, as painful as it sometimes is, I love this stage. They have navigated through life, and change, and all the things that come with it, with unusual grace, great resolve, and impressive determination. They are so different, and yet so like me. They are mine, and they are their Dad’s, and they are their own.  I love the women they are, and that they’re becoming. They’re good humans, and I made them, I had a major contributing role in that! They’re my masterpiece, my best work, my reward for anything and everything I may have ever deserved a reward in life for. My ex husband, his wife, me, and my husband- we are a kick ass team. We, separately but together have raised these beauties and are releasing them to the world, and hoping that it takes care of them, too. But, when it doesn’t, when it’s mean and hard… or when they just have a cold, they can come to Mom, no Mommy, and I’ll make Matzo Ball soup, and tuck them in on the couch with the blankie and pillows and the remote and tissues. And I’ll Mom the hell out of them. And somewhere down the road, when we get to be Oma & Opa to our grandchildren, I will spoil the daylights out of them and we will be their paradise, as mine were to me.

Sigh.

Well, this one wasn’t fun. And, the sky’s still grey. Still, it helped, I think. I’m more ready to shake it off than I was hours ago, and I’m much better than when I first woke and felt those nasty tendrils wrap around my heart and lungs. Tomorrow, I will go watch old movies with my oldest, at her lovely apartment. Because she wants me to. Now, that, that right there? That makes me smile. Tomorrow… a happy, frivolous post. I promise 🙂