Happiness

If I had to sum up my life over the last 5 years, the first word that would come up is OVERWHELMING. This is how I've felt for most of that time--juggling becoming a mom and a wife, managing my household with my husband not in it most of the times I'm there, learning how to do the best for Elliot, being pregnant or nursing most of that period, managing this wonderfully broke place, struggling financially, it's just been A LOT. Not much time for me to care about me.

And I've learned that I haven't learned how to manage my own chaos...I'm not very organized, and it's not a tool I've learned to use to say, learn how to put my kids to sleep in a less stressful manner. And I'm also stubborn, so I won't say, use a kid-leash to keep my wandering son tethered to me, because I just think they are offensive--but maybe that's just another example of how I don't know how to manage my own chaos. I use that "it is what it is" a little too much, and the result is me being a harried, exhausted mom, who gets resentful about how hard things are...

Standing outside of myself, and hearing myself has also exhausted me...I don't want to be this person.

As I think about Galito, I think of how the things I take for granted are the things that were so hard for him, that he never got to enjoy--
-simple domestic bliss (clean house, home-cooked meals, freshly cut grass)
-children's play (getting on the floor, playing a game, letting kids be themselves)
-a healthy, loving marriage (thoughtful gestures, flirting, silly banter)
-meaningful work (a sense of individual accomplishment, the joys of camaraderie with others)

I've been thinking about this a lot lately...and the other day, I just decided to be happy. That what I have might not be as easy to come by as it has for me, and that despite the challenges of the home, the kids, the husband, the job I'm so incredibly fortunate to have these, just as they are.

Well, thinking happiness and living it are still hard to push through in my overwhelmed state--and I still find myself over-reacting when stressed, of course. But I'm actively pursuing my own happiness now, today...not just for me, but for my brother...because all these "little things" I have, well, having them would have meant the world to him. I know he wants this for me. So I'm working on happiness. And thinking each day of all I have to be happy about, and trying to see the beauty in my chaos...I know it will get better.

I saw you at the Rock n Bowl--we were there for Kevin's work party--and there was your twin- from one of your stocky with long hair and goatee periods. Kevin says his name is Mario, but he looks just like you. Even dressed like you--long, board shorts, t-shirt, heavy metal bracelet--his bowling face even reminded me of yours--I thought of what you'd look like bowling...I watched Mario quite a long time. I wonder how his voice sounds. Ms. Gladys says this is something you do after someone you love dies. Says it happens to her quite a bit with Ardis. I couldn't help gawking. It was very surreal. You should be here. I think of how could you were. It was an unnatural cold. I think of that sensation, and your curly hair each day. I'm glad I touched you before you were put in the ground.

We went to Bay St. Louis with Mama, Daddy and Haydee. I was surprised Daddy came, but everyone enjoyed it. Daddy watched Meet Joe Black, and it gave us some interesting conversations. I'm surprised with how easy it is to treat him with delicacy now--he so often deserves a good head slap, but I can see such a deep sadness in him now. Mama too--she cried on our way back from the mall. Said she always bought you something. I wonder if you cared or knew how much we'd hurt. Or if it really didn't matter. No, I guess you can't live for someone else...especially not the way you lived. I'm sad you couldn't find happiness. I wonder if now that is our curse.

Oliver is the bringer of love these days. He slept with Tito in BSL, and Daddy said it was the best sleep he's had in weeks. That Ollie woke up crying, looked over and saw him, and smiled at him in the dark. Well, that just breaks him all up. Mama is always holding him. It will be a miracle if he ever walks with all that luvin. I wonder now about the surprise of him coming. If the universe knew something I didn't about what would happen in our lives. That we would need a little baby to pull us out of our sadness that could so easily swallow us up. A baby, that so very often, looks exactly like you did. Give or take 10 pounds.

I wonder about this pain--and if life is slowly trying to rob me of my optimism, and if I'll have the strength to fight it back. And I look at so many others, mostly folks older than I, who've lost, and hurt, and endured. That's just life, I guess. I find myself not wanting to focus on the good bits of life--keep waiting for something else to happen.

I don't know that I've ever felt so fragile--I look at folks who might want to talk to me with a mixture of fear and caution. Some people look like they are scared of my pain...but then again, I'm paying an inordinate amount of attention to these interactions--so unusual for me. I've always considered myself fearless. Now the idea of being fearless and having so much to lose is ridiculous to me.

At some point, I'm supposed to turn this into something positive, right? Ms. Gladys says it will always just hurt. But it will get better over time. I'll just have to believe that, I guess.

What's on my mind?

Random thoughts from this week:

• Grief-o-meter set to NUMB.
• When I'm feeling NORMAL, I think, "Gee, I'm feeling kind of normal." I realize that this is not normal.
• I must talk to each of my parents at least one time each day.
• When I feel someone trying to pull me from my funk, either knowingly or not, I feel kind of angry. Even the neighbor who innocuously invite El into his workshop, I think, "Dammit, we can't just go see what's in your workshop...the walk, by itself, is the best I can do right now." We go into the workshop and I'm grateful for him helping pull me out of the cloud over me.
• Can't look at a bridge without thinking of her friend's mom who committed suicide this way a couple of years ago. We talked earlier this week about how traumatizing bridges have become. I wonder if garages will do the same for me.
• How do I get rid of my brother's handprints on the rafters in the garage? My parents haven't noticed, and I don't want them too, but they drive me crazy.
• Even though right now I'm inclined to think, "My life is inordinately hard, harder than most of the people I know," and pity myself a great deal, I'm hating being told I'm an inspiration or a hero, or any other fluffy term to euphemize(?) that "Gosh, your life is shitty, and watching you helps me realize that I'm kind of lucky." It's not a goal of mine to inspire you with my trials and tribs. I'm looking to have a happy life here. If I think too much about how hard all this is, I might just fall into a pile on the floor like Humpty Dumpty...please don't remind me.
• I think about relationships in terms of whom I will bury. If I'm lucky, I'll bury my parents. (I hate the thought of them having to bury me). My husband is older...and I'm sure I'll have to bury him. What does he want done with his body? I have so many friends. They make my life rich and warm. Will I have to tell them goodbye? What a terrible cost of love. I can't live any other way.
• I am overwhelmed. My life is hard. I want my husband home. I want to be a more present parent. I don't want to worry about money so much. I want for simple things that aren't things. I wish I had the capacity and presence to give back to so many who do thoughtful things. Can I manage some thank you notes?
• I don't want to talk to you, whomever you are. When I do talk to you, I feel strange like I'm outside of myself. If I enjoy talking to you, I think about it constantly afterwards, and feel guilty for laughing or chitchating or being the person I was two weeks ago.
• I want to hold and kiss and tell my children each moment I see them. I tell them how beautiful they are, how perfect they are. I seek to love them more perfectly. I'm grateful for this lesson.
• I have nightmares. They are gruesome and sometimes terrifying. They involve all sorts of people. I remember these nightmares the next day and replay these scenes along with Galito's final moments each day. In some ways I feel traumatized.
• I've forgotten so many things and so many plans.
• My summer plan was once--have a house full of kids coming and going and slipping and sliding and eating popsicles...now it's survive the summer, open the door if you feel like it.
• Do people know how much it means to show up at a funeral or do small things for a funeral service? It means a lot. Each sympathy card means a lot. Saying something to acknowledge something that has changed me forever means a lot. Thank you.
• I'm an only child now, and think about how alone I feel in the universe. I'm suddenly grateful for having 3 kids, so they have more than just one other person, just in case.
• Please God, don't ever take a child from me.