I've told you before that I cried only three times after "The Very Bad Thing" happened. The first was when I thought of how Kelvin was going to miss his school and classmates and remembered that K was also 6 years old when the first move to another city that he can remember took place and traumatized him quite a bit. The second time, I was driving from a store to another rushing to buy things friends had asked me to bring to Brazil when I drove past this awesome, brand new YMCA I had visited with the boys on our first week here and Linton asked me: "Mama, when are we going to go swimming in that pool?" I was astounded that he remembered it from almost two months earlier and felt so devastated that we'd probably never become members and go to that pool. We then took the highway and drove by K's work and this beautiful song was playing in the car stereo and I wept bitterly. (I can't remember the third time now...)
I have to confess that I can cry at movies and sad books fairly easily, but I have a hard time breaking down and crying when things aren't going well.* I don't like to let anyone see me cry and I've been like that since I was a young girl so I've learned to control my crying quite well, even when I'm alone sometimes. I feel like crying now, but for some reason it seems to be strange to cry now that things are well. This is the point, though, all the tension that I've been holding has to melt away and crying would help.
I tried to be as brave as possible and not to complain, either here or elsewhere, and that wasn't easy at times, but finally I felt at peace and didn't feel anguished just by looking around the house and the things that need(ed) to be done. Now that everything is finally resolved, everything keeps coming back at me...
... how long and stressful this year has been: K having only one interview out of 50 academic applications; then getting a "miracle" job offer, but having to wait for ages for the visa; making an offer on a house and then subsequently being forced to give it up; putting the house on the market and selling it before having chosen another one; coming back from Brazil to go house hunting while trying to pack for the move and meanwhile K started on the new job and Kelvin started school...
... the stressful move and being "homeless" for almost a week.
... how tough those first weeks here were, having to get used to this older house and some of its ugly, even repulsive, things (like old ugly, dirty carpet in bathrooms), feeling like it would be a torture to wait to be able to afford each renovation.
... just when we were getting used to this place, making some small progress in renovating, buying new furniture, the devastating news came. What to do then? How to sell this house and not to loose a huge amount of money? What about all our plans and dreams?
I had these small concerns and sadnesses preying on me and that I allowed myself to share with you: the bulbs and the garden that I wasn't going to have, the CSA farm membership that we might not get (because if we moved we wouldn't be able to continue), Kelvin having to go to another school. And meanwhile I even forgot things like our wish to become part of the YMCA and do more physical activity. Last week I drove on that road again and Linton was asking when we were going to go on the water slides and I just said that probably not at that place, ever... But now things have changed again and we can proceed with our plans and dreams, even the "small" ones.
On our way home yesterday I wanted to stop at IKEA so we could look at mattresses since now we can finally go ahead and buy the king-sized bed that we had planned to buy before our anniversary (only it'll have to be after it ;) and I could hardly believe that we were doing that.
It's not an "instant injection" of cheerfulness, though, this piece of good news. It seems that the dream is somewhat tainted now, that we're no longer innocently taking things for granted, we now know we have to enjoy it while it lasts and be prepared for changes in the future too. Sudden changes if necessary.
I planted the remaining bulbs today while K cleaned all the remaining leaves from the front of the house. And when I had to go buy more lawn bags, I bought another bag of bulbs. Daffodils, which are cheerful and not eaten by rodents. And I planted them with renewed hope in a brighter future.
* Except perhaps when it's about people and dying. I cried several times since I heard about my grandma being ill. It looks like she'll be released from the hospital tomorrow!
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5 comments:
When that much scariness happens, it's hard to have faith that things are ok now. Take your time easing into feeling safe again. May 2008 be a year of nothing but happy surprises!
As odd as it sounds, I had an enormous breakdown the day that C returned home from his dissertation defense. He had, as you know, successfully defended his dissertation, so he was completely flabbergasted that I actually sobbed after he told me the details. It was not sobbing out of sadness, but it was something of a release. That entire process was incredibly stressful, and it wasn't until it was finished that I felt like I could let go of all the stress. Crying is often a catharsis, at least for me. I understand crying now, and I also understand why you're hesitant to feel joy right now. It has already been snatched away from you, so you don't trust it. That trust will return in time.
I am a crier--remember, I burst into tears when I heard "Congraulations, Dr. Professing Mama" at the end of my dissertation defense. Like m, crying is cathartic for me. So I get why you're crying.
I also understand why you're feeling "once bitten, twice shy." You've been through so much this year. I hope 2008 is much calmer!
I, too, hope 2008 brings better fortune--and it sounds like things are already turning for the better!
I'm like you--I soldier on and hate to let people around me know I'm sad. But sometimes you just have to let it out and then things improve...
I firmly believe that crying cleanses the soul. It's our body's way of reminding us of our own humanity, a release of tensions contained deep within us. It's like cleaning our pockets of tashlik and sending it off to be eaten by fish (as our scapegoats).
The tears carry our emotions to our clothes, and tissues, and the soil beneath our feet, to be absorbed in the air, and rain down as moisture to nourish our plants.
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