I kept thinking that once I knew for sure what was happening, it would be less overwhelming, and then I could say “Hey, here’s the story, I’ve finally unclenched long enough to tell you.” I could sit down and figure out what to tell, how to tell it, and then I could assure you that everything was going to be okay and not to worry.
That was a good idea, I guess. I mean, it would’ve been, if it had worked.
It doesn’t work because I don’t know if everything is going to be okay. A rather large portion of my brain is convinced that nothing is ever going to be okay ever again, but even if I manage to turn down the volume on my fears, the fact remains that I don’t know. We don’t know.
Once upon a time I believed that if I loved the stuffing out of my kids and worked only part time… or stopped working entirely… or worked from home… to better afford me the time and space to pack their lunches and do their laundry and tell them to put their stuff away and remind them that I love them beyond measure, the road might be a little bumpy, but it would be okay. I would be a good mother and they would be happy and healthy.
That was a good idea. (more…)