There have been a few times in my life that have stopped me in my tracks. Moments that can pause you and your feet feel as heavy as elephants and you can feel so uncertain where to go.
I can think of times in Marley’s care that I have felt stagnant and stopped. But not paralyzed, just paused. I take it all in- the feeling, the tension, the air almost hollow like you’re in a vacuum chamber. It’s not always a defining moment, but can be associated with a memory or an event.
I once saw an ex at a party that was no where close to where they were supposed to be and I had a reaction, not that I still longed for this relationship, but that I needed to leave. I felt paused, but instead not moving I ran.
Running can feel like such a release for me. And don’t let me paint a picture that I am a runner or anything; I am a very slow runner. But it’s the time that allows me to be in my head. I’m working it out.
I have an upcoming trip that takes me from home for a full week as it has done for the past 5 years. There are 52 weeks in a year and don’t you know this same week is Marley’s only field trip to our zoo. While missing any chance to chaperone a field trip is always sad, this one is poignant. Twenty days after Marley was born I went on this same field trip with my son. He was 7. It was very important. He needed me there. And it was the first time I had left Marley solely in the care of Daddy and the doctors. I left the hospital and went straight to the zoo. I wore a lose gray dress that hid the giant padding helping to conceal my body recovering from the birth. I felt broken.
But, I also felt strong. I had just had a baby and I was still able to be with my son. I chaperoned and can still remember the dull ache in my hips from so much walking and the panicked call that my husband made telling me she spiked a fever and they were going to do a spinal tap.
Today I decided I cannot change my flight and I will have to ask my oldest daughter to go to the zoo in my place. Marley was indifferent which I tried to reason is a really good thing. That she doesn’t cling to me even if I cling to her. She’s growing up. And that really is a good thing. It is.
Tonight I ran while she was at practice. When I round the corner I run slam into a t-ball game and all these littles. I run around moms and dads and babies and siblings on blankets and I get far away from the commotion and I can feel the sun blazing on me and I feel the bubbling under the surface. I get far enough away from everyone and everything in an empty parking lot and I turn towards the next path and I collapse over myself. I full stop. Not just stop but like a can’t move no matter what I do. I can not move. I cry a so deep full body cry. A paralyzing cry. A she doesn’t need me and I don’t get to be there cry. A how in the hell did I go at 20 days cry. I cry pain. I cry heartache. I cry a cleansing cry. And it feels so dang good. And sad.
I turn around and get my bearings and about 20 feet away stands a horse alone in the middle of a field quietly looking at me and I’ve never felt more seen or heard. I’ve never seen any horses on this path, albeit I rarely run here. But today I happen to see and maybe he felt seen and heard too.
Marley’s best friend broke her arm. It’s a right arm so naturally the one she does everything with. They took Marley out for the day and while her friend was getting buckled in the backseat, she says I cannot buckle with one arm. Marley is sitting there staring at her. She holds up Rue and says seriously, I do it every day of my life. Her friend uncomfortably chuckles and says oh yeah, reaches down and buckles herself in. It wasn’t mean neither of them, just funny. And when her dad shared the story, he thought how awesome is she. And how amazing we never even notice.
I’m not sure if it’s that we want to be seen and heard or we want to just go on like everything is always normal. And I suppose that differs on the day and definitely our emotions. But I’m going to trust that I’ve made the right decision and my daughter will take an obscene amount of pictures like I would.
Well, I didn’t run back to the car, but I did walk slowly enough to actually take in all that was around me. To let my vision land on the space between. And see. Actually see.
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