Feeling Our Way Through the Dark

I've seen dark times before. Dark times in my career, where I said something to make myself look good when I should have just been listening. Dark times in my health or my children's health or my parents' health, where no one knew what the outcome would be. Dark times in my family, losing a brother. Dark times as a mother, where I thought the kids were making the wrong choices or choosing the wrong friends, and dark times in my marriage, where the situation didn't seem to have a solution. But this time is different. This time feels really dark! And there is no power company coming to turn the lights back on. And it's not just dark in our own homes, it's dark everywhere, some places more than others. We can't just find our way through this dark. We are feeling so much! We have to feel our way through the dark.

And so I am reaching for anything. I claw my way along, grabbing onto the next table-edge to pull myself up, just long enough to catch my breath before I have to move on to the next thing that needs doing.  I reach for the familiar, like talking to a friend. I reach for the natural, like digging in the dirt. I reach for the comfortable, like a nap or a soft blanket. I feel around and sometimes what I feel is an empty chair. Not a chair for me, but for one of my children. Gone. We took two kids to college this month and the emptiness is deeply heartfelt. We take Annie next week. Maybe. Gone are the days when college move-in was a bittersweet mix of emotions with a loud party soundtrack of "Wild One" playing in the courtyard, whose music only the college kids hear, while the parents are too busy trying to look calm, collected, and still cool, trying not to be too overbearing, or worse, crying. This time was just quiet and gloomy, even with the loud music. Dark. "See you... soon?" we said, not sure if it would be a happy reunion or an emergency pick-up. That's scary. How do you feel your way through that dark? Matt was determined not to say Good-bye. He played with the dog for a long while before we left home, petting his head, shaking his paw, roughing his collar. Then he turned to me and said, "I'm not saying good-bye to Cody." Yeah? Then what was that all about? "I don't like goodbyes," he said. This oughta be good, I thought. Feeling his way through the dark. College is different these days. There was no huge send-off from family and friends like in the past. Because of staggered times for move-in, we didn't get to meet his roommate or see his roommates' family like we did at other move-ins. We kind of left him in limbo, with enough peanut butter and crackers to get him through a few meals, should he be too anxious to go to the cafeteria alone. Because we were all wearing masks, we could only see each other's eyes - and they were filled with tears. Feeling our way through the dark. And later we found out that he really did eat peanut butter for dinner that night. 

Now our college senior is in online classes because of Covid outbreaks. He had already had to quarantine when he first got out to school. He was sincerely sad to miss his last first day of school. A mix of senior emotions. How do you feel your way through that? I don't know. 

I don't mean not to be hopeful. I know I should be telling myself, Hope is not lost. All shall be well. But right now, it's just not doing it for me. I just have to feel. I have to feel the darkness and not shirk away from it. I have to feel the emptiness and not be afraid to cry. The tears are right there all the time. One wrong move and I'll be a hot mess. I have to feel the fear and be afraid. And it doesn't have to be okay. It's not okay! Feeling our way through the dark. 

According to the Enneagram (I'm hooked on these podcasts and books and more ...) there are three primary ways of facing the world: through the head, through the heart, and through the gut. The head - I don't have enough facts or knowledge - no one seems to. The gut - I don't have enough instincts to let me know what's right or wrong except by listening to experts and scientists, real scientists. What I do have is my heart, my feelings, and even though they might be dark feelings, they will help me make my way through. Right now, in the dark, my heart is working hard. I feel it like palpitations. 

So I feel my way through the dark, reaching for anything. One tiny candle at a time. One thing I can reach for is Love. Feelings of love. Memories of love. Messages of love. Places of love. Pictures of love. The past summers, past trips, past parties and graduations. That helps. Memories of starting our family, memories of when the kids started school in the past. Matt's first friend and his message of Love: "Dreer Matt, You ar so cool. Luv, Pierre." My little boy, now a senior, walking up the steps to pre-K, his first first day of school, and never looking back! He must have been scared. He must have felt in the dark, not knowing what was coming. But he had lots of love from us, from his teachers, and faith that school was a safe and happy place. Each of these memories sheds a little bit of light in the dark, a single candle. The feelings aren't so big and heavy. I can catch my breath again.

In our current culture, we can reach for Love too, even when it feels easier to hate. Trust me, I'm working on that. We can feel that Love in the messages of heroes who faced adversity and darkness like we, or at least I, will never know. While I say I have had dark times, they are not the epic dark times like a world war, or the Great Depression, or the extreme trauma of racism. I don't dare to compare my pain with the heroes who endured all that and more. Like veterans and gold star parents. Like our ancestors. Like immigrants and refugees. Like John Lewis and Martin Luther King. Like Barack Obama. Like Michelle Obama. Like Kamala Harris. Like Breonna Taylor and George Floyd. They are the stars in this darkness. And they always gave us and continue to give us messages of Love in spite of the darkness, in spite of all the adversity they faced. And we can share that Love with others, with every single one.

I can't see clearly yet. The lights are off and aren't coming back on anytime soon. But we can feel our way along and keep going. Keep loving. Feeling a little love along the way. 

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” - Martin Luther King Jr.

*Images are from the site Bright Drops.

Serendipit-Us

Every June or July I usually visit the shops down the shore, usually while on vacation and stock up on birthday cards. I love browsing through the cards and finding the ones that make me laugh and will make the recipient laugh too. When I go with Annie, we usually end up having to leave because we make each other laugh so hard and call a little too much attention to ourselves. And some of those card stores are like libraries - you have to be quiet! I buy cards for a handful of people, my sister, my niece, my friend from college, my cousin, and a handful of my aunts - all the summer birthdays. I haven't bought a card for Aunt Doris for a few years now, as she is gone, but I know she's still with me. This year she gave me a very special gift...

I know we are all quarantining. I know we can’t hang out with people. I know we aren’t doing all the things we love to do with each other. We are choosing where and when and with whom we spend our precious time. I have to confess that I have had the most wonderful time with my kids during this lockdown. Not that no one left the house but we kind of rationed our time. I saw my kids every morning and every night. I knew where they were. No more of the worries and sleepless nights that plague not just the new parent but the teenage parent. I’m particularly adept at hearing a newborn baby’s cry in my sleep and the closing of a car door and the slow and stealthy rise of a teenager up the creaky, creaky stairs. Having them home under our roof meant not to have to worry so much. 

So when we do go out and connect it has to be for something worthwhile. Something wonderful. Something worth risking your life for! We had a beautiful trip for our anniversary but haven’t had a dinner out since.  We are rationing our time with parents and friends. One, maybe two, nights a week? And after we do, then we crawl back into our respective hovels and see how long we can tolerate the darkness again. Sometimes it lasts longer than others. 

So to my surprise, I found myself agreeing to meet a complete stranger online. She had a quilt she was willing to part with and I thought it was just beautiful! So we agreed to meet. When I arrived she asked if I had trouble finding her house. No, I said, my aunt used to live around that neighborhood. And then she handed me the love-worn quilt and it felt warm and heavy in my hands. It was a double wedding ring pattern, which I have always loved, with a seafoam green trim. She told me how to wash it and that it had come from the Cold Spring Antique Fair in Cape May over 20 years ago. I told her how much I appreciated it and thanked her again and got back in my car where Annie was waiting for me. I showed her the quilt and we talked about how nice it really was, not knowing what to expect. We headed home but drove around the corner first. And there to my surprise was my aunt's old house! Literally backing up to the quilt lady's house! I couldn't believe it - the house had changed considerably, including the front door being relocated from the center to the side, but the address was the same. I felt I could hear my Aunt Doris laughing right out loud and she had the best laugh, the best smile, the twinkliest eyes, right up until she passed. Tears filled my eyes. It was a gift from heaven. The funny thing too was I remember as a child going to their house with my parents who were helping to paint the living room with new green trim - seafoam green! But Aunt Doris thought it looked like pea soup and so there was some debate about whether to keep it or not. I can't remember if it lasted. 

It was serendipity. Fate laughing at us through the past, through the grave, through the social media that we all depend on and bash at the same time. Because even though we can't be together, we are still together. We are still our aunt's nieces, no matter what. We are still our childhood selves who learned to love from loving families. We are still little girls learning from and looking up to our aunts who did things differently than our mothers. We are still young and old, searching for connection. We are still our neighbors' neighbors. Serendipit-Us! We are still a gift to each other each and every day in ways we don't even realize. And so Aunt Doris came to me through a stranger, a very generous one. No matter how we find each other, through text, or phone, or a screen, or an app, with a mask on or a distant hug, we need each other to share a story or a smile or a very old, very treasured, very special quilt. I will forever refer to it as Aunt Doris's Quilt.