This Feels Good

Lately, things in life have been ... a lot.  Between the busyness of being a mom, and all the programs starting up again for the fall, things have been a bit chaotic.  I tend to bite off more than I can chew.  I've recently taken on a leadership role in a Mommy & Me group.  Last year, I was a new mom attending this group, rarely getting to group on time, not attending every week, and usually barely having enough energy to get myself to group, let alone shower and do my hair and makeup before going.  Now, I have to go every week, I have to be early, not just on time, and I have to do a lot of prep work during the week to make sure that things go smoothly.  I'm not complaining.  I love being in this role.  I love having a creative outlet for all of my crafty ideas.  I love supporting other moms in my community.  It is just a lot some days.  When things get heavy in my personal life, and in the lives of those close to me, it takes purposeful energy to keep showing up, and to keep ahead of all the prep that goes into a group like this.

Group was today.  I have been preparing for today's craft intermittently for the past two months.  Last night, I was up until 1:30am, at which point my brain was well past its full capacity to concentrate.  I went to bed with the full intention of finishing my work before leaving for my group.  Morning came around, and I had a friend call me right as I was about to get up to get ready.  It was not the kind of phone call I could just brush off.  Her situation is one of those ones that is heavy.  My heart was feeling weighed down.  I still had prep work to do.  My daughter was feeling especially independent, and got into some of my craft supplies, which ended up all over my bedroom, and living room.  I finally collected myself, brushed my teeth, threw on a hat, some deodorant, and a splash of makeup, and put all of the crafts supplies in a big bag.  I gathered up my daughter, our bags, and loaded up the vehicle. We got to group just on time, and I started setting up.  About 20 minutes before group started, I realized I had completely forgotten to bring half of the supplies needed for the craft.  I had to leave my daughter with one of the other leaders, go back home and get my supplies, and come back to introduce the craft, and teach everyone how to do it.  It ended up going well, but it sure felt like a lot of effort to make it happen.

Now, I am at home, dinner has been eaten, the kitchen has been (relatively) cleaned up, and my daughter is in bed.  I am now doing something I have not done in a very long time.  I am sitting with my laptop, writing, while comfortably laying in my bed.  Now that all the craziness of the week is behind me (in theory) I feel the need to sit down and process some things, and to reflect.  Writing is a great form of self care for me, and I wish I had more time to do it. 

This feels good. 

For Abby

*** I can't help but think of the title of this blog – Day to Day Musings of A Restless Mind. My mind has been very restless lately, with thoughts coming and going like cars on a highway interchange in LA. ***

Whenever I lose someone I love, I do a lot of mental processing. I may not say much outwardly, but inside, the wheels are turning. I'm sure I get this serious look on my face when it happens. I see myself speaking at their funeral. I imagine all the things I would say about that person if I was asked to speak. I am not big on public speaking, but this never really freaked me out, because I didn't think I would ever be asked to speak. Surely, someone else would be better suited for that job than I would be. Not this time. Today, (and I say “today” very loosely, as I have not yet gone to bed, although it is past midnight, and these events technically transpired yesterday.) … Today, I gave a tribute to my friend Abby at her memorial. It was very difficult, but it was also a great honour.

I realized what that honour represented. It represented the depth of relationship that I had with Abby. That is what the real honour was, here. It has the honour of knowing her, and sharing life with her.

As I already mentioned, I do a lot of mental processing after a great loss like this. That being said, I apologize if my thoughts seem entirely scattered, or even nonsensical. I suppose that is a normal part of grieving. My mind is being confronted with the truth of this loss, and it is trying to piece together all of the memories we shared, and how those memories are all I have of her, now. No person is simple enough that processing their death is a quick and easy thing, if you knew them well. People are all multifaceted. They are complex. Of course, my relationship with Abby is unique, as it is seen from my personal perspective. Only I know what it was like for me to know her. There are others who loved her and knew her as well, but they all had unique experiences with her, as well. 

Warning: Tangent Ahead!

Thinking about all of the people who knew Abby in similar circles as me, it makes me think of a Venn Diagram. Each person makes up their own part of their circle, where they intersect with another person is their personal relationship, and where they all intersect in the middle represents the commonality of their collective experiences. Abby and I were in choir together. Singing together was something that we shared, and something which I found very special. At her service today, there was singing. Our friend Anna Grace was sitting in the row in front of me. She asked me to come stand by her so that we could sing together. Anna Grace was also in choir with Abby, and we all sang alto together. I stood beside her, we sang, and as we did, I could hear her voice as it formed different harmonies. It was beautiful. It reminded me of Abby. I know that I have a unique and personal relationship with Anna Grace, as well, but I think it is only natural that we both want to be near each other right now, as it helps us connect to what is now a missing part of that Venn Diagram. When we sang together in the past, Abby was almost always singing with us. Now, when we sing together, it will always remind us of her. It hurts just a little bit, but in a beautiful, bitter sweet kind of way.

(End Tangent.)

Later in the day, after the service was over, and I had gone home, I was reminded of something. Years ago, I asked family and friends to write letters to me for my birthday, and to specifically tell me why they loved me. I needed to hear it, and it was a bold thing to ask. I also asked that they all provide me with their addresses, so that I may write a letter to each of them telling them why I loved them. As I started thinking about the people who said that they would do this, I thought of more and more people in my life. I started to write down names of people who were not a part of my birthday project. I wrote 50 letters in the span of a few weeks, and then 20 more 2 years later as new people entered my life.

This week I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would write for Abby's tribute, and I found myself thinking of all of her little quirks, all the things that made her unique, the little things that made her uniquely Abby, and made me smile at the thought of her. I started to wonder what little things about me would be shared at my funeral some day. I don't mean for that to sound morbid at all. It is more of a curiosity, wondering what memories will stick with people, and what are the things that make me uniquely me. I'm not about to ask anyone to write tributes to me, but what I am going to do is write tributes to some of the key people in my life. I am going to write about how we met, what stood out to me about them, and various little stories that have always stuck with me about them. I may do this just for myself. I may share them with people. I'm not sure yet. All I know is that what they say is true – you don't really know what you have until it is gone. I don't want to take for granted the people in my life. After Abby died, I was so very shocked. I didn't ever think about the possibility that she could die. It had never crossed my mind, and then suddenly, it happened. As I held my 10 month old daughter in my arms later that day, I felt a bit of fear come over me. I suddenly thought that if Abby could die, anyone could die. My baby, my husband, my life-long best friend, my parents, my brother. Nobody was safe. The truth is, nobody has ever been safe. We will all die someday. But here's the thing - I don't want to live in fear of death. I want to appreciate the life that is all around me, while I am still here to do so. I hope this inspires you to do the same.

Much love, 

K