Lee and I are in this twilight phase. Our kids are out of the house, one making his own money and two in college. Now our parents are starting to fall apart. My mom broke her foot yesterday. Her right foot, the 5th toe in 3 separate pieces. She can't put pressure on it and she can't drive. Just one day before Lee was feeling out of sorts because both of his parents are sick and I told him that I'd probably be despondent if it was both of my parents. It's as if the universe was listening. The next day, on my dad's birthday, he has to go to urgent care because of confusion and my mom breaks her foot. Life never gets easier. The washing machine doesn't work. We had to buy a new furnace. Honestly, it's a good thing I didn't get that job. When you are a kid you think that life is going to get easier the older you get; you'll be able to make your own choices. You can for a while. But now I look at my parents and my in-laws and their choices are getting narrower and narrower. They are slowly losing agency over their bodies and their minds and we have to step in and make choices for them. More than resentment, I mourn the loss of their vitality. I want my parents and Lee's parents to stay mid 60s forever because that's where they are in my mind. In reality, I'm closer to mid 60s. This life is so fucking short. In the same night I have to worry about one kid getting home to Philly, 2 others going out on NYE, and whether or not our parents are going to fall. It's like Jan said earlier today, will I ever be happy again? I'm not unhappy but I thought life was a story book and I get to choose the plot and the characters and the story arc and the ending? Why isn't everything glimmery and pretty and perfect? My kids are educated and healthy. Lee and I are in relative good health. I'm just not prepared for this next phase; the one where our parents get sick and need us and they die. How do I do this with grace and mercy and kindness and joy? Where is that unspeakable joy? It's not in the pile of clean clothes that need to be folded. It's not under the Christmas tree. It's not doom-scrolling on Instagram or Facebook. It's not in the cheesecake that I made or the crafts that I do to distract myself. It's not in my kids and who they are becoming. It's not in my friends (they are just as busy and dealing with the same stuff). It's not in my job (but it can be a very nice escape). It's not in an Amazon order or a Netflix series. It's not in a clean house or a messy house or an organized or disorganized house. All 4 of our parents are going to be gone some time and the brutal reality is taunting me. I've gotta make peace with that and uncover that joy no matter how insignificant the spark might seem. My fucking mom always has told me to practice gratitude and I think that's where it is. The joy is in the gratitude. Thank you for chicken. When we couldn't afford anything else to eat while I was growing up, while saying grace, with sarcasm, I'd thank God for the chicken, again. Thank you God for the mess. Thank you for the imperfection. Thank you for the friends that I don't get to see but who I know that are there. Thank you for the husband with the humor and the unending well of goodness. Thank you for the kids who mostly want to be with us. Thank you for the nearly 60 years with the parents who were chosen for us. Thank you for the jobs that we love. Thank you for our humble little house with the cracks in the ceiling and the mismatched, second-hand furniture. Thank you for the past 2 weeks with the kids and thank you, as I've cleaned out the house, for the opportunity to see the small parcels you've consistently sent me over the years. Thank you for showing me the small adjustments I can make in my relationships with my kids as they become adults; how to support and not undermine. I guess as long as there is breath to breathe I can use that breath to make the sound that forms the word that says the thing that means thank you. Thank you for this moment.
