Shall I tell you about the ambulance called to my son’s program and how he wouldn’t go in it? Or about my ex-husband’s call to me as I was in the shuttle and on my way to the airport to come home?
Shall I tell you how it always takes me a few days to recover my sense of balance after one of these visits?
It would be easy to focus on the chaos. It would be easy to let myself be sucked into the drama—and try to pass it on to you by relating everything that went wrong. But...
But if I did that, I would miss out on telling you that in many ways it was a very good visit with my son. In spite of his Down syndrome, we connected better than we have in a while. And my ex-husband has finally managed to get him to go to bed by midnight—most nights anyway.
If I focused on the chaos, I might not remember to tell you my son is okay. (Well, he wasn’t having a heart attack, anyway. He did have some tests and we’ll have the results next week.)
If I focused on the chaos, I might believe that’s how life is instead of remembering how good my life is most of the time. I might forget that I no longer have to live in that chaos and be part of it. I might forget that instead of being a helpless person barely able to keep all the plates spinning in the air, I’m actually someone who is strong and capable and able to successfully help others.
It is difficult to go back into that chaotic situation and remember this was my life for so long. It is difficult, sometimes, to accept that both my son and my ex-husband are making choices to create and continue the chaos and that they have the right to do so.
I grieve every time I go there. I grieve for the hopes and dreams I used to have and for what might have been. And then I remind myself to celebrate what’s good and right about my situation AND theirs. It might not be what I want for myself, but it is what they are choosing for themselves.
It’s good to be home.
Sending blessings and safe and gentle ((((((hugs))))))),