The house is empty but I can still hear the voices of the children echoing through the walls. The evidence of their existence reflects off the stains in the carpet as the sun shines through the window. There is music playing in the background as I try to find some semblance of peace as the world continues to fall down around me.
My mind returned back to my favorite book I was FORCED to read in high school. I think my sophomore year The Bean Trees by barbara kingsolver. Since its initial reading I have made it a point to read this novel once a year due to its profound connection to my inner self. There was a line in the book that I have carried with me and it continues echoing in my mind “It felt so good to laugh she feared next she would cry”. What would that be like. To laugh. To laugh without anger, resentment, fear and restraint just beneath the sound?
What would it be like to look in the mirror and feel adequate? What would it be like if i could pen whats really racing through my head at night? The last few days I have tried to figure out what I am feeling and its like there is nothing there. I can see the world around me but cant really reach it. He tells me “it will get better i promise” but then I wonder if the things that hurt us can ever be the things to help fix us.
My soul is tired. From battling the autism with my son and everyday life as yet another parent approaches me confirming my fears that I’m losing my middle child as he teaches her younger son to say bad things. Another conversation on the sidewalk, another parent another “problem to solve” another “behavior” as I try to reign him closer when the inner parts of me just want to run and hide. I’m trying to hold this all together on my own and the harder I fight the more control I’m losing.
The house is a complete mess yet I sit here typing this out. I put a load of wet bedding into the washing machine this morning and wondered what the point of this was. I mowed the lawn yesterday and I am sitting here staring at the perfect lines in the grass and wonder when I will have to do it again. The dishes in the sink remind me that my work isn’t done but all I can do is sit here staring out the window wondering if there is anything out there for me.
Despite it all, I keep telling myself that this is temporal. This life is what… approximately 80 years right? so I have 45 more years to figure it out. Why I’m finding peace in that I’m not really sure but it seems to be settling me a bit. Either its the perception that I still have time to figure it all out or maybe its the idea that I only have to do this 45 more years before I’m Free. Either way, its working.