Rewind > Pause > Play

So. Hi. It’s a new year. It’s a different year. I’ve been thinking about a new year’s post for over a week now and frankly, I’m just not sure which direction I want to point… There is a running dialogue (one-sided because I generally don’t talk back to myself) in my head and I have yet to reach an end point. I keep trying to decide what I want to say about last year. I try to put my finger on how to approach this year. And as for goals or resolutions in 2011? I’m skeptical at best. Call me gun shy thanks to 2010.

Last year I set some fairly reasonable goals. At least they seemed reasonable. I honestly was doing a pretty good job on the majority of them for the first few months of the year. And then at the end of April everything turned upside down. It was one short phone call on April 28th. “Mom is sick. Dad took her to Urgent Care this morning they think she’s having a reaction to a medication. They are sending her to the hospital. I’ll keep you posted…” Truthfully, I can still feel the initial sensation–an electric current running over my skin, coursing through my blood. The next few weeks and months were like one of those worst-case-scenario scenes that your mind comes up with, but you tell yourself will never really happen. But this time it did. And yes, arguably it could have been worse. But this was pretty nightmarish. Just like that, normal and routine and goals flew out the window. I am so very thankful that I didn’t stop to think. I ran. A quick phone call to Ben and another to my boss and I was out the door and flying down the freeway to my family. To Mom. To Dad. To Sarah.

This is surreal.” I said that countless times–it became a motto of sorts. It was surreal, and it still is. I’m trying very hard not to get stuck on the path of “remember and regurgitate every little detail” at the moment, that is not where I want to go with this post. Suffice to say, things were frightening. And overwhelming. And unknown. A middle of the night transfer to a larger hospital with a specialized treatment center is never a good sign… I try to be thankful. I am thankful. I’m thankful that I went to the hospital when I did–the following weeks would have been unbearable for me if I hadn’t done that. I’m thankful that Valley Med was a (relatively) short ambulance ride away when a transfer was required. I’m thankful for the nurses and doctors and support staff. I’m thankful for a husband who kept things running at home with minimal complaints while I was away for long hours. I’m thankful for very understanding management at work who allowed me the flexibility I needed to cope. I’m thankful for Thomas and Caroline who were a reminder that 24 hours a day, seven days a week at the hospital was not the best way for me to spend my time–even when I wanted to, even when it was torture to leave Mom’s bedside, even though I still sometimes wish I could have held her hand more. Above all, I’m thankful that the times I was summoned back to the hospital by frantic phone calls, she was still there.

However. However… However, my overwhelming feelings about it are not thankful. Mostly, I still just feel numb. I still what-if. I still mourn what used to be. We have, for the most part come out of the storm. (Yes, there are still very real and very major hurdles being faced. But survival is no longer the day by day, minute by minute struggle that it was in May.) Before this happened, I thought that life felt chaotic and out of control–things were moving too fast and I was always a few steps behind. Now? I am MILES behind. It feels like I’ve been swept down a mountain by an avalanche–I can’t even see the top of the mountain any more, and digging out and climbing back up is a laughable idea. I sometimes think I will now be perpetually far behind. Behind on laundry, work, cleaning up messes all over the house, and focusing on what really matters, grocery shopping, doctor appointments, Thomas’ homework, getting the mail, sweeping the floor, sleeping.

I am very tempted to simply reuse my list of 12 things from 2010. You know, kind of like a do-over. But… I think that I would rather focus more on the fact that this a new year. And so? I will instead go with some general ideas. Stress less. Enjoy more. Eat less (junk). Exercise more. Play more. Clutter less. Sleep more. Nap less. And above all? Cherish family.

4 Comments, Comment or Ping

  1. Babe, I’m so glad you wrote this. I think it’s a great first step to working out all those what if feelings.

    And yes, above all…cherish family. I love that.

    January 5th, 2011

  2. I think that life gave you one of the biggest kicks it possible could and you’ve done really well despite it. Maybe things aren’t the way you wish they would be. But your house is still standing. Your kids (and husband) were fed and loved. How it all got done? Doesn’t necessarily matter. It did. I just think you should give yourself some credit on that. Your mountain climbing gear is sturdy.

    Change takes time to adjust to love. Time. Sometime loads of it. It’s okay to grieve for the past, because you also cherish the now.

    I’m proud of you sweets. For writing this out. For making it through everything. For even being to make some goals for is year.

    January 5th, 2011

  3. J

    I know that avalanche feeling…and I am also all too familiar with the what-ifs. I’m glad that I rushed to my mother’s side in Alaska. I wish I had known how ill she was here, and had her moved closer to me. I don’t know if it would have helped her. It would have helped me to see her more often.

    You’re grateful beyond belief to have your mother alive, so it feels ungrateful to still be stunned and angry about what happened to her, to you, to your entire family. I don’t think it’s ungrateful at all, though. The fact is, you all went through hell, and the consequences of what she’s been through are by no means over. So yeah, be grateful for having her here. I myself am THRILLED that she’s still here. But don’t feel bad if you’re still kind of bitter about what happened.

    I like your resolutions for this year. You could probably distill them down to, take good care of yourself and those you love. And hon, you do that already, every day.

    January 11th, 2011

  4. Grandmother

    You were heroic and as someone said to me recently, you carried your burden with grace

    January 21st, 2011

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