I read yesterday that a remedy for hurt and worry is gratitude, which isn’t to say that a prayer of thanks and a walk in the woods can fix anything, but it can take the edge off for a time.
Yesterday’s post and the continued onslaught of rage and incredulity are wearing me down. I’m allowing myself to focus on these days, the moments of being utterly captivated by Finley’s infatuation with the wind through the window. Being reminded of the way the air carries scents and stories and just by closing our eyes we can be transported to another place and time.
The moments in a marriage when in the face of overwhelming responsibility and the seeming futility and cursedness of a project, we melt. I can ask him to play air guitar with a massive dock joist and all the furrows and tension of 4 hours standing in the water, dropping bolts, getting splinters, and feeling fish nibble on us drops away to reveal those crinkly eyes and that smile. He played for me and I loved him more for it.
The way sweat cleanses me, even as it makes every piece of sawdust stick to me. I find salvation in the burn of pushing my body and seeing these arms and legs that I lamented for so many years, flex and manage the weight of lumber, tools, and my children. I forgive myself for so much when I allow myself to remember all that I am capable of and the lengths my body and mind are willing to go.
Feeling the world and all its promise wrap us up in hues of pink, ripples of, “It isn’t perfect, but there will be wonder.” I unclench my fists and unknot my heart, because it’s ok if we teeter or get slightly off course, the water is wide. My littlest saying solemnly that she can, my eldest saying tenderly that she isn’t sure she wants to; we help each other get from here to there.
My girls, tucked in corners with puffy pillows and airy sheets, shoulder-to-shoulder with their sisters, and Sean gently waiting for me. Content and patient, on these days, and even the others, when I slow long enough to hear beneath the static of the days.
I love you on the air, even during the darkest times.
Peace to you on these days.