In the arms of an Angel; may you find some comfort here.
- Sarah McLachlan
- Sarah McLachlan
I stayed overnight at a friend's house once when I was extremely upset and needed a place to go. In her guest room was a double bed that was practically a museum piece. It was enclosed on three sides and on top. The fourth side had drapes on it. The bed had I don't know how many pillows on it, and lots of soft, comfy quilts. I felt so cocooned, so calmed in that space, it's hard to describe.
In the wee hours of the morning, when I'm starting to sleep fitfully, I snuggle up next to my husband, he puts his arms around me, and I fall back to sleep. Much more easily than the mornings I don't.
I think about the time spent nursing my babies. How a baby's body melds into its mother's. Checks flush. They fall asleep. It's universal. I close my eyes and I can still feel them as babies in my arms.
It's called comfort.
The events of the past few weeks have put me on an emotional roller coaster. I alternate between falling apart and being matter of fact. The falling apart side of me stems from knowing pain. I had this surgery almost 20 years ago. It's horrendous. My sister-in-law talked me through it and I thought it would be okay. They handled the biopsy well and so the surgery will be fine too, I told myself. And then I got a jerk of an after-hours nurse when I called for information and I am afraid again.
The matter of fact side of me says it's either cancer or it's not. If not - great! If it is, we'll either beat it or we won't. If we do - great! If not, my mom is waiting for me. All positive outcomes. Maybe my family doesn't see the last one the same way I do, but it's okay in my mind. There have been times through this when I've been upset and for no apparent reason I feel my mother's presence very strongly. It's unexpected, startling, and real.
I have wished I could just stop, quit dealing with all my demands, and have someone wrap their arms around me, and make this all better. That won't happen. But I know my mother is still with me and I take comfort in that. So are some wonderful family and friends who are angels too.
In the wee hours of the morning, when I'm starting to sleep fitfully, I snuggle up next to my husband, he puts his arms around me, and I fall back to sleep. Much more easily than the mornings I don't.
I think about the time spent nursing my babies. How a baby's body melds into its mother's. Checks flush. They fall asleep. It's universal. I close my eyes and I can still feel them as babies in my arms.
It's called comfort.
The events of the past few weeks have put me on an emotional roller coaster. I alternate between falling apart and being matter of fact. The falling apart side of me stems from knowing pain. I had this surgery almost 20 years ago. It's horrendous. My sister-in-law talked me through it and I thought it would be okay. They handled the biopsy well and so the surgery will be fine too, I told myself. And then I got a jerk of an after-hours nurse when I called for information and I am afraid again.
The matter of fact side of me says it's either cancer or it's not. If not - great! If it is, we'll either beat it or we won't. If we do - great! If not, my mom is waiting for me. All positive outcomes. Maybe my family doesn't see the last one the same way I do, but it's okay in my mind. There have been times through this when I've been upset and for no apparent reason I feel my mother's presence very strongly. It's unexpected, startling, and real.
I have wished I could just stop, quit dealing with all my demands, and have someone wrap their arms around me, and make this all better. That won't happen. But I know my mother is still with me and I take comfort in that. So are some wonderful family and friends who are angels too.
No comments:
Post a Comment