Tuesday, July 07, 2009
It's been remarked upon, likely brought on by me comparing myself to a bounce back Bozo doll, that I seem to recover quickly and to always continue to move on as one considers the amount of stress and turmoil I sometimes seem to be plodding through each day. Our family's adoption caseworker described it as 'quickly processing one's emotions,' which might have been genetic within me, or possibly a learned behavior over the last 20 years of massively, challenging difficulties.
But, I am a rock.
More likely a combination of both. I've watched my own mother for nearly 55 years as she's functioned through the loss of all her siblings, all of the relatives older than herself, and several younger than herself, plus her own daughter. I've watched her deal with financial challenges and windfalls as well, plus the stress of being a minister's wife for many years before undertaking quite a few other challenges, and she's seemed to just soldier on in spite of it all. She's our rock, the one Jimbo, Gary and I depend on still.
What's our choice? Crumble and cave in? Hide under the covers? Or keep on keeping on.
I don't necessarily stuff down my emotions either. I holler, slam things around, work like a dog to release negative energy, I laugh my butt off at times, act sillier than a four year old, I cry when sad or outraged, and then I gotta keep on getting everything done. Nobody wonders how I feel, it's always right evident.
I've often dreamed aloud about the end of all this, when I won't be 24-7 on call, when I can eat what I want when I want without a couple dozen mouths whining at me, and I truly look forward to that day...but I want to get there with as few regrets as is possible. This I can do.
It kicked me in my gut to see Sarah go down so hard Sunday afternoon, to hold her daughter Hazel who's never without her mom, who kept asking for her "Mama?" and looking questioningly at Yolie and I, while Ray Ray was totally distracted by The Bubbas, and everyone else here, but there was an underlying current of anxiety in his playfulness as Sarah and her husband, Preston, have worked very hard to provide security and stability for their family.
Sarah came out of the hospital last night, bowed and thinner than a wisp, three small holes carved into her gut, tired and in a little pain, but she'll bounce back very quickly. Again I feel as if my family dodged a bullet, or else 'all's well that ends well,' and we can move on for our Family Fourth of July Shindig in an oppositional family that'll shoot fireworks off this week rather than last.
My favorite brother-in-law arrives today with his darling daughter, Lauren, who's already been conscripted into chaperoning the upcoming Children's Church outing to Stone Mountain, taking Sarah's place, as she obviously doesn't need to go hiking two days out of surgery. Jimbo, now 50, but forever my baby brother, arrived yesterday.
So most of my grown kids will make an appearance over the next two days or so, wanting to see Lauren and to meet her boyfriend who's accompanying her to this politically unstable, rebellious third world nation we call home. Lauren'd made a slide show for him of all my kids, as she expected him to remember names. "Oh honey," I'd sighed on the phone yesterday, "they've changed so much this year, growing like weeds."
Lauren's boyfriend, a Mexican guy from William & Mary, "Is he a Yankee?" I'd asked her last fall, questioning Lauren as Ellen, my sister, would've done, but certainly and absolutely trusting Kevin, her father, to have given his own stamp of approval first.
Trying to get ready for this week, CW and I hauled off another bedroom door that had crashed into the hall after a slamming fit demonstrated by Scotty over nothing. After this summer, I'll likely have to just bulldoze and start over, the wear and tear of large, angry bodies upon our walls and foundation has been phenomenal.
I pranced my silly self through the gardens at dark last night, popping 101 blackberries in my mouth, yes I counted, I need to exert some feeble control over my surroundings, as the weeds seem to be winning in spite of no rainfall, thinking I don't wanna wish my life away, to have these last several years speed by me like the past 20 have done. At times I might want everything and everyone to disappear in a poof of their own gases, but overall I'd prefer to relish my life.
Grandma'd found a mimeographed sheet of paper after her last sister passed away with a semblance of a family tree showing that just slightly east of here, on the Georgia/South Carolina border, since the 1700s, all of our kinfolk have popped out large families of 11-13 kids, on my Dad's side also, so I'd warned my single brother about dating anyone around here, as we could likely trace 'em back as some sort of cousin. I can't begin to imagine what my branch'll look like.