Life as an Extreme Sport

ramping intensity, difficulty

I’ve been doing okay lately. Better. I’ve had help, help that I don’t think is really completely aware of being help, which is in and of itself sweet and gentle and I think what has been needed. Just being pulled out, by force, to interact with people and the world, rather than hide in my bedroom. Hiding now, it elicits a phone call. (And in random trivia, that means there are now two people who’re aware enough of me and my habits that if I break them, they call.)

But as I was grocery shopping today, I realized that the next few weeks are going to be hard. Not only it’s the end of the semester so I have papers to write, but because the Hallmark machine is ramping up to Mother’s Day. I guess I get to see just how onion-paper thin my skin is, and how settled and stable I am. My birthday is a few days after that, and I have plans for a small vacation right then, so… hopefully that will help.

Doesn’t change the fact that I expect the next couple of weeks to be rough. And once we’re out of Mother’s Day, we’re right into her birthday.

Last night I was driving to Kurver to get some soft serve – singing along to the David Cook CD I had playing at loud levels, windows down, nice evening breeze. And suddenly from nowhere there were fireworks all over the sky, and I ended up skipping Kurver to drive towards and around the fireworks, just enjoying and having that awe that always washes over me. The road I ended up on reminded me of this place outside of Great America, in San Jose, where we’d go every year on the Fourth of July. Dad’d park the Ford and we’d climb on top of the camper and lay out on the roof and watch the fireworks explode directly overhead, feel the vibrations reverberate through our bodies and the car – my first true memory of understanding how we can be connected by more forces than just touch – the music (Peter, Paul & Mary, Paul Revere and the Raiders), the traffic and not paying so much attention to that because we were sleepy by then, lulled safe and secure in the bed of the truck as Mom and Dad talked.

These things wash over and through me every time I see fireworks, memories that connect me to my family, past, and present.

I think last night was the first time I watched fireworks since Mom died. And in the middle of the awe, I found myself singing along to the music, and remembering, and bursting into tears.

And now I’m telling tales about weeble spaceships and find myself laughing and crying at the same time. I just have to remind myself that this? Is better than where I was before.