For many years I’d have case after case of the Monday-s. Not because I dreaded going back to work, but because I missed my people. Monday meant a return to the weekday schedule: alarm, coffee, read, sometimes meditate, wake boys, pack lunches, fix breakfast, hugs and kisses, drop off or wave as they headed their day at school and work then…silence.
A couple of years ago I started teaching early classes on Monday, then began working Sunday- Thursday. I never really noticed, but my cases of the Monday-s disappeared…until yesterday.
I’m not sure why, but they are back, more intense than before. Absolutely shitty, back.
I have remained committed to myself and my family the past several weeks. I’ve done a bit of checking in with extended family and few friends, but my focus has been on what lives under our roof. Except, our fish. I totally forgot about the fish until today. I have no idea when it died. Long enough ago that it stopped floating and was resting peacefully at the bottom of the bowl. So other than the fish, I’ve paid my attention to my people and Mops. Thank God, all still alive and well.
My commitment to myself has been to feel and accept. This means not feeling guilty about the gratitude I had for the first few weeks at home observing a slower pace. Accepting the distance. One day it meant packing away the puzzle I stared and never finished and binge watching Broadchurch last weekend. It’s looked like pouring out 3/4 of a bottle of Prosecco, because I was finished and sounds like saying “yes” to the junk food requests when I’m at the grocery and ask if anyone needs anything before I leave. The first three weeks have been full of gratitude, love and peace. More meditation, time in nature and asana practice than in months combined.
Until Monday.
The ding of my phone giving the notice: Arkansas would continue with online learning for the remainder of the 2019-2020 school year. Just like that I realized what I’d not wanted to realize — he’s been robbed of his Senior year. It came like a flood of emotion from all the Monday morning’s I’d missed. The Monday’s I felt normal and not alone in silence. All those Monday’s dumped on me without a moment’s notice.
Sit. Sit, accept. Sit, feel. Sit with your commitment to the moment. It is best.
I fought with myself. I told myself I didn’t need to sit with it. Screw that commitment, it is stupid anyway. Try to breathe. NO! Just take a breath and realize you are in this moment and it is real. I tried. It was real and the real breath was shallow. The next one was too and the one after that, then the tears. Tears, shallow and angry breathing. Here it was that sitting in the moment, committed to feeling and accepting. Migod, it was ugly!
As, I sat at the table with my face buried in my hands, using my t-shirt as a tissue, he heard me. He came out from his room and sat at the table with me. I told him I was so sorry. I had no other words. It was horrible and awful. I shared about the okayness of being scared and angry and not understanding. Also, It was okay to feel gratitude and safe in our home and to dream. We must keep dreaming. Near the end of the conversation my tears stopped. Elliott walked to me, hugged me, kissed me on the cheek and…
Yesterday’s case of the Monday-s gave me these gifs: An uncompleted To Do list. An extra short journal entry and less than a chapter read. I tried to meditate in the morning and practice yoga, but I couldn’t. I spoke poorly to myself about the softness of my body and my lack of discipline some days when it comes to snacks. I cried more than I smiled. I walked on the road instead of the trails, giving me the flyby of a pileated woodpecker. I baked cookies. I listened. I cried. In the evening, I participated in a global meditation and virtually took my first kundalini yoga class. By the end of that day, Monday, I’d found my breath again.
Today it is Tuesday. I woke early without an alarm and found the coffee had already been made. I sat with ease to meditate and journal. Gratitude, safety and understanding returned through the night. I showered, dressed in a skirt and sneakers, adding mascara and red lip gloss. I kissed one at the door, as he left for the day and the other two remained sleeping. The house was silent, as silent Monday morning, but this silence was comfortable and easy. Later in the day I’d buy crickets for the lizard and say yes to buying junk food at the grocery. I dressed for the occasion.
I took the last of my coffee to the deck, called a friend. I listened and I shared. I began to understand this distance is the way some things are meant to be. For now, it’s best and this best is not to be understood. It’s not what feels good or is necessarily what we ever expected, but it is right. And as I remain committed to feeling and accepting, I know this to be true: God is faithful and Love wins. Even on the Monday-s.