Yesterday all hell broke loose in my world. The day started out with an email from an acquaintance who has cancer. Although I only got to know her briefly, she is the grandmother of my friend's son (yeah, figure that one out), and has been a huge influence on the society I am involved in. Her message was upbeat and full of love and gratitude as she said good-by to all. This weighed on my mind as I then got word that a dear friend of mine was dealing with a son who was having a mental health crisis. This son of hers, although almost 10 years older than my son, shares a number of personality traits with my son. As I ponder this and do my utmost to remain positive, I am also considering the two disturbing tarot readings I have given myself in the last 2 days - one with the Tower in it as my resolution and another with Death as my challenge. In keeping with the Abraham philosophy, I envision these cards to mean that I will have sudden and irrevocable GOOD things happen for me. But the images play in my mind and I cannot fully envision these as 'good' signs.
The day meandered on as I struggled to maintain focus at work, and managing to get some important projects done there, I moved on to my next job of cleaning/cleansing my friend and client's home. My husband had called a few times with a play-by-play (short version) of how his day was falling apart, and again I pulled myself out of my musings to try to maintain a positive perspective on his situation. I even managed to go to the gym and get a decent workout in (I'd give myself a B for combined effort and execution). Sometime during the day my son had managed to wash and dry his clothes and as I arrived home, I realized he had been there in the brief time I'd been at the gym and they were out of the dryer. I called for him to see if he was upstairs, but not surprisingly, he was not there. I sat down to my lone Tuesday-night dinner and to check Facebook, when I read that my son had, in fact, managed to connect with his friend's mother whom he was hoping to ask to 'rent out' her spare room. I was initially happy for him, but a little frustrated that he hadn't called to share this news with me. I go upstairs and that's when it all hit me: my son had moved out. He was gone. He'd done what we asked and in a classic move of his, left without saying good-bye or letting me know what was going on. And he wasn't coming back.
Now for all of you who say "oooh they ALWAYS come back!", I say to you: It is not the same. The first time your child launches out on his own, however that looks for them, it means they are officially 'of this world' and no longer your child in the same sense. It has been gradual steps leading up to this, and my heart has ached a little more with each step he's made towards the door (or with each nudge we've given him), but the reality of the magnitude of the impact that this moment would have on my life from here on out hit me.
In a vain attempt to connect with my daughter I called to check in with her. It was a brief conversation that brought me further into that moment of parental questioning of 'Did I do the right thing? How many times have I fucked up my children without knowing? Is this their destiny, or is this my failure?". Her perspective, as is to be expected, was one of judgement that I let go too easily. TOO EASILY. Of course, my initial reaction was to read her the riot act about how I am the parent and she is the child and she has no idea what it's like to be the parent of her and her brother. But the judgement stung and brought me back to those questionings nevertheless.
And that was the moment I broke. I looked around my house and realized they were gone to me. Both of them. I had a flood of flashbacks of them as children hugging me with abandon, crawling into my lap early in the morning, the adventures we had tromping through the snow, just me and my babies, so that I could feed them one winter when we foolishly moved in the middle of a blizzard to a remote island. I remembered the times one ran away and the other told me she hated me. I remember the heartbreak of the divorce from their father and all the many, many difficult choices I had to make in the hopes that they would be safe, cared for and loved by both parents. And I remembered my son being in ICU at Children's Hospital and the tenuous grasp on life that he had, while my daughter was home alone at an age too young to have to deal with the uncertainty of what was happening without having a parent to comfort her.
As I felt my grief and sorrow bleeding out of me, I sat down in the corner of the kitchen, like I have in so many other grief-ridden moments of my life, and started to sob. And it just kept coming. And it still flows. However, I managed to call my wonderful husband who encouraged me and loved me from afar and helped get me to a state where I could get my legs back under me and wander up to bed.
Although the card readings I did were for now-seemingly-mundane issues in my life, I believe the cards were preparing me for this. This moment of self doubt, loss and hopefully, eventually, rebuilding.
For today, though, perhaps I could catch a break and just coast a little.
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