I’m stuck. Or as Adaline used to say, “I ‘tuck.” I’ve been ‘tuck for weeks. Not able to write. Not able to plan much beyond today. Wondering what I am supposed to be doing and how to get to the point of doing…anything.
I know that sounds like depression, but this time I felt more lost than depressed. I asked God for some kind of sign or message. Nothing. Besides feeling stuck.
Slowly, the light started to go on inside my brain. I spend a lot of my time waiting for the next disaster/crisis/time of need. On hold. Stuck. ‘Tuck.
Last year, in 2012, I lived that way. We quickly went from one grandchild to three. Maggie was born in January, 90 minutes away, to Stephanie and Will, and had 2 open-heart heart surgeries by the time she was 9 months old. Adaline turned 2 in February and welcomed (?) baby brother, Atticus, in April. With Kristin and Josh, their parents, they moved 30 minutes away a few months later.
Our daughters took turns with disaster/crisis/time of need. I gave up hope of planning anything more than a day or two in the future. The retired man I live with and I turned 61 and 60. We tried to spread ourselves, like a spoonful of peanut butter on bread, as far as possible, but we got thinned out at the edges.
2013–they are all healthy and well! Or at least living in a normal state of sleep-deprivation with joy and wonder, colds and ear infections, crawling and walking, eating solids, talking, tantrums, toilet training, and sibling rivalry.
I still live each day with hyper-vigilance and concern. Ok, worry. I am stuck, waiting for trouble or need.
You know what, I don’t have to live like this anymore!
On May 9, 2013, I celebrate 26 years of sobriety. 26 years, one day at a time, of no alcohol or inappropriate drugs. Today I am a recovering, not cured, alcoholic and I’ve learned a few things:
I am a beloved Child of God. And therefore, I have worth.
God and AA and Al Anon help me stay sober.
I can’t control anything except my thoughts and actions.
Everyone I cross paths with is also a beloved Child of God, doing the best they can. They each have a Higher Power who watches over them. That Higher Power is not and never will be me.
There’s freedom in letting go of protecting others from pain and hard stuff that I can’t stop anyway. I learned how to deal with pain and hard stuff one step at a time, one day at a time, asking for help from God and family and friends. I can’t stop the pain and hard stuff in my daughters’ lives. I hate that, but they have their own lessons to learn, if I stay out of the way.
I’m writing now. I have ideas for how to use my freed-up time.
God says, “Go for it. They will be okay.”