Up Up Up and Away

This is part of what we’d say to the kids when they were little (well, still do say it) as the airplane takes off.

My whole life I’ve had plane crash dreams where it’s going down and I say “here we go; here it is”—I’ve wondered and have had theories about this dream over the years.

Tomorrow I leave for what I hope is a tolerable weekend. My body is falling apart, which probably wouldn’t happen as much if I could allow myself some other way to feel and express things, but I’m not there yet (not just with my mom’s death but all the things.)

I’m looking forward to having time alone with a BFF, lots of resting and being outside—the weather will be perfect—long walks with my fucking arthritic big toe. (If you’ve had hallux ridigus—sp?—tell me what worked. I have a metal plate in my shoe while helps part of the problem but creates another. This has been going on since April.) Thank to all the things that the kids’ dad sees a doc maybe once a year, has never been hospitalized, and takes exactly zero medications or supplements. Maybe a few ibuprofen after climbing a giant mountain or after a night of serious drinking. He’s a very sturdy mammal. They have a good chance of taking after him. So far, so good.

I have accepted that my mom’s husband’s daughters will be there the entire 36 hours (which includes sleep time) I will have with my brother and aunt. I mean they won’t sleep there, but the 36 hours we’re there includes sleep, so there’s little actual time. But maybe that’s good. There’s nothing to be done about it. Adjusting expecations helps. I do fear that I’ll lose my shit (I have a new appreciation for that metaphor through my dreams) and yell stuff, but this is a common thing, right? Like being on a tall building and worrying you might jump off though you have no desire to, or being in a quiet ceremony and hoping you don’t unwittingly scream the worst obscenities. There’s some psychological name for or theory about this, so I don’t pathologize it.

An overpacked suitcase, out of office reply, coping strategies, plans for decompression and escape routes—I’ve got this down. Having my family and EK with me helps so much. I am thinking of myself mostly as my children’s mom which is a good orientation for me. It reminds me I am a grown ass person. I do not want to go there as my mom’s daughter. I’m done with that. Or that was done, a while ago. Mother/child means something very different in my family now than in my family of origin. Times change, and people work on themselves and deal with their shit (yes, the shit yet again!) as much as they can to minimize damage to others. G_d knows I’ve done and will do all sorts of damage to many people.

The one thing I hope is that I don’t blame my kids when they tell me how the damage feels. It’s hard to hear, but the very worst thing a person can do to another is to make them feel crazy because you can’t tolerate them telling you that you hurt them.

I forget to breathe all the fucking time. So my goal is deep breaths, walking, remembering to eat (and eat well), not drinking too much, checking in with myself. Allowing myself to be a person who has the right to take up some space. My therapist said today that I should focus on being there for myself. I think that’s good to strive for. It’s best for me, and consequently best for my kids because I can be empowered, as whole and self-contained as possible, and be their mom, not a person they might feel needs caretaking. I want to take care of myself. Not have some complicated relationship to who takes care of whom, and how, like I did with my mom, where it all gets twisted and tangled and there is blame and resentment and guilt. I want to keep it simple and clear, to let us stay in our lanes and have our own experiences and feelings. In this way we can be there for ourselves and, if it feels okay, for each other.