A week of bitter sweetness. I have had a happy, bubbly girl all week. Last weekend we had “respite” to rebuild body and soul, while she stayed with her dad. Although I confess to a growing sense of anxiety throughout the afternoon of her return, this time at least, it was not warranted. I sat in the car across the road from the school bus stop, 4pm sharp as always. On a grey, cold, winters day, the windscreen was spattered with sliding fingers of raindrops. I saw other parents waiting for their kids, and thought how different their experience of this minutae of parental life, felt from mine. They read books, or scold their grumpy toddlers while they wait. Me? I have palpitations and pray that I will see her familiar, much loved figure dancing down the bus aisle as it pulls to a halt. You see there have been days when I have sat in this place and watched the bus come, and then go, and I have been plunged into darkness. Those are the days when she has “disappeared” from her life. The “runaway” days. There is never any warning; any subtle change in body language or facial expression to alert us to the possibility that all of our lives are about to crash and burn again.
This week, every day I pick her up from the bus, and she is sunny, bright… normal! I feel like a regular mum, doing regular mum things for her girl. We shop together at the supermarket, and buy school stationary. I give in to the pleas for chocolate at the checkout. Not only do I give in, I join in, and savour such a simple, loving time of togetherness. I announce to both daughters that from here on in, they will take a turn at cooking each week. Older daughter grouches, and drifts off to spend time horizontal watching tv. My other girl, simply picks up a chopping board and knife, wrestles the lid from a jar of bolognaise sauce and gets stuck in. Dinner was beautiful, and daughter, proud of achievements and the resulting praise, inhales her food with great gusto.
Today I have arisen from two days of bed bound sick leave. I cancelled clients, put life on hold and had a love affair with the safe and nurturing cocoon of my bed. Endless Oprah and Dr Phil shows, interspersed with self help books, sleeping, coughing and nose blowing. I rarely sucumb to “bugs”, but know that chronic stress causes your natural immunity to plummet. I feel no sense of guilt or frustration for my abdication from life. Instead I have extended a loving hand of nurturing to myself, and walked the healing talk I dispense to others… “love yourself first, so that you are strong and healthy enough to love those around you”. I am walking my talk.
Dusk is falling and my much loved vista is still and tranquil. Tonight will be a full moon, and when I wake for my now habitual 3am contemplation, it’s light will illuminate my room, and remind me that in these times of change, some things remain strong, certain, never ending and illuminating.
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