Recovery

I can feel myself coming back. Last week was undoubtedly up there with one of the most challenging. Lance's murder was extremely jarring. I didn't anticipate how much the services would affect me. Typically, these things make me cry, but I leave with a sense of peace and acceptance. This service, full of Lance's family, friends, and teachers, left us all sobbing in heaps on each other. With the death of one so young, with an event so untimely and preventable, only questions remained.

I did learn more about who Lance was today, and it was of great comfort. He was preparing for confirmation, and going to these classes at church each and every Sunday. He'd asked one of his teachers to sponsor him. She spoke with great pride of Lance's faith and commitment. I learned that Lance was walking home after playing video games when he was shot. And I learned that another friend, an employee with the Juvenile Justice Project, will be representing his murderer. His murderer was 15. How much more tragic can this get?

At the service, there were many former students. The bonds between us still so strong. As we cried together, the beauty and importance of teaching was reinforced from the pulpit. Oh yes, we have our work cut out for us. And these kids, no matter how much time passes or where they go, will always be "our kids." I suddenly felt scared for them all. Scared for the baby I'm carrying. Suddenly, the fear of being pregnant became the fear of letting the baby go. Out into this crazy world. I threw everything up for the next two days.

I've found great comfort this week in spending more time with children. My own, and other people's. Just hearing the things they say, or having them ask me for a hug (when I so need one) has been healing. How can one not laugh in the presence of a child?

Ana and El and I have been planting in the garden, and removing old leaves. The days have been so lovely with spring here. I've felt the simple pleasure in the breeze and sunshine, and the longer days spent outside.

Other gifts have been in the form of, well, gifts. My friend Georgia surprised me with a meditation book in the mailbox. About 20 of the pages were dog-eared. Her favorites. The thoughtfulness of this gift is extraordinary to me. Words of comfort, hand-chosen, for me to read when I'm in need of a lift. This is definitely one gift I'll have to pass on.

I'm moving on. But I'm scared to forget. I want to remember that anger, and do something with it. I want people to learn about Lance, and about the countless others who we lump into the heaps of non-news generating murders. I want the courage to keep living in the city I love. A city where there is so much pain, and endless hope.

Off center

It doesn't take much to knock me off balance these days. I don't know if it's hormones, daily challenges, or just my own changes happening to me...but lately, minor occurances have the makings of an emotional moment:

-getting dressed. What the hell to wear?

-well-intentioned Mother of Four scoffing at my avoidance of soft cheese and beer while pregnant. Spoken like a women whose only had typical pregnancies.

-constant nausea. Can't even enjoy my favorite pastime anymore! I lost 5 lbs. this last month. But this is typical first trimester for me.

-Random work mishaps, like a new employee failing to show up for work.

-the absence of fresh corn and white onion in the fridge for tortilla soup. It came out fine with frozen corn and green onions.

Today, I was really trying to dig myself out of this sad place, and just tried to take my lead from the kids, who are so good at modeling unbridled joy, open-ness, and without expectation, relish the surprises of the day. Something I'm working hard to do. So after a morning of cooking, we headed to the front garden. Inspired by my green-thumb friend who posts pics of her haven nearly daily, I knew we had some work to do in the long-neglected garden rife with sycamore leaves, and random weeds. I did find it quite therapeutic to work in the soil, however short-lived with El heading down the sidewalk at 10 minute intervals. I felt like myself for a minute, out in the sunshine, uncovering doodle bugs.

Then El opted for car play. One of his favorites...we open the car and he pretends to drive (sans keys). When I opened the car door, there it all was. The evidence of another random car pilfering. Someone had looted our car. Papers. Pennies. Tampons. Everywhere. Every hidden compartment door hanging open. WTF.

And for what? I don't think there was anything of value in the car. If there was, it went without our noticing. The police came, quickly. The crime scene guy came, quickly. Ana learned about fingerprints and was fascinated...more fascinated than scared of random people invading our space, yet again.

I'm working to get back but I really think the only way through this funk is THROUGH.
I'm off to get some retail therapy. Maybe that will temper at least one daily meltdown.