Birthday Reflections II

I've known for several weeks that my Birthday Reflections entry called for a follow-up post.  The problem has been that I haven't known exactly what I wanted to communicate in a Part Two. 

I still don't. 

Except to write that, I am OK.  I am still breathing.  Functioning.  Working.  Caring for my kids, husband and new house.  Oh and, don't forget, the puppy. I've been busy unpacking boxes, folding laundry and singing with the boys: "They're two, they're four, they're six, they're eight, shunting trucks and hauling freight..." (Actually, I am really just trying to see if I can get Thomas the Tank Engine into every single one of my blog posts.  You know, like the little mouse that pops up on every page of the book, Goodnight Moon?  But I digress.)
 
The usual. 

After my October 11 post, I received concerned phone calls, texts, emails, Facebook messages and even an invitation to visit a church here in Poplar Bluff. It had resonated with some of you because, as you shared with me, you struggle with the same issues.  It made others of you worried.  And sadly, some of my dearest and most intimate friends?  You actually felt guilty that you hadn't done more, listened more, or encouraged more. 

My intention was not to scare anyone, and of course it was not to make anyone feel guilty. I was not seeking sympathy either, although your messages were lovely, just like a hug reaching across time, distance and my cell phone or computer screen. 

I wrote what I wrote because I couldn't not write what I wrote.  For myself.  The night before my birthday was an important moment, a sort of turning point, and when I sat down to process it, everything spilled out onto the page.  And I was glad, too, because it was a night I wanted to remember.

Birthday Reflections

Another birthday means another year in the books.  What will I remember as I flip through the pages of my life’s 33^rd chapter?   As I reflect on the last year, sometimes it is hard to sift out the stand-out moments from the everyday ordinariness of life and work. 

I have been crying, or on the verge of tears, most of this last week.  I’ve been complaining to my husband about the difficulties of having recently moved to a new place, whining about the things I don’t like about it here in Poplar Bluff and wallowing in self-pity.  Last night though, was the worst.  I fell apart. 

Joe and I were standing in the kitchen.  The dinner dishes had all been cleaned and put away.  Our two boys were quietly in their beds for the night.  The kitchen was dark but for the light over the stove.  Everything in the house was peaceful, yet inside my heart was a category-5 hurricane rapidly approaching land.