When All Else Fails...Jump Off the Ledge Into a Pile of Pillows

The other day we were driving somewhere. My kids were watching something and I was in my little world behind the wheel. The question from the back seat was, “Mom, what are you afraid of?” I didn’t hesitate. “I’m afraid of either one of you getting hurt or sick. I’m afraid that I’m not doing a  good enough…..”

“But Mom, what are you afraid of?”

I popped back into the moment. They simply wanted to know what I was afraid of. At that instant I felt stupid. No that isn’t a nice word that we are allowed to say but it fits the way I felt at that exact second. Instead of answering a simple five–year-old’s question, I over-analyzed. They are forgiving.

It appears that I am an expert at that. It’s a gift really. I can take any comment, question or situation and think it to death. Almost an OCD type of thing. 

I’m starting to think that I have made everything up to this point difficult. I’m wondering if everything has been simple but because I over think, over-analyze and just obsess, that I kill all traces of simplicity.

I think I’ve been this way my whole life. It wasn’t until my kids were born that it became something that I notice. I don’t blame them, this is all self-inflicted as usual.

Of course I have examples. When my daughter was an infant she was textbook. She did fight sleep but she ate well, played well and almost never spit up. We joked that she could eat nails. My son was not the same. He donned a bib for an entire year. He had an intolerance for his formula. My daughter was introduced to her crib early on. She seemed to love her bed and we never worried about her. One night she spit up. It seemed like a lot and it really sent me into an over-analyzing fit. “Why did she spit up? What is wrong with her? Should we take her to the doctor? What do we do!? What do we do!?” We put her back in the bassinet and brought her in our room that night. I jumped at ever noise. It was an awful night. She never spit up again. I worried for absolutely no reason.

When my mom called and told me that she had pancreatic cancer, I was in shock. I researched quickly and understood what would be happening. I accepted it right away. I began to play out in my head the events that would possibly take place as a result of this disease. I mapped out every second, every pain, every infusion, her last weeks, how she would look, how she would sound and finally, how she would die. Not a day would go by where I didn’t think about it. How would I react, what would I feel? Would I cry? Would I fall completely apart? It seemed like I was choreographing the next months. I analyzed every drug, every emotion, every dart that my mom threw. It became my way.

I wonder if that is my problem. I spent seven and a half months on edge. I wonder if I am still doing it?

The question that my kids asked me, dare I say, made me analyze how complex I make everything. Could it really be that life is simple? Am I the one who is making it difficult?

Today as I was contemplating this blog I started watching my kids play. My son was upstairs and my daughter was downstairs by the fireplace strategically placing every cushion, pillow, blanket and all-around soft thing in a row/pile. I had a clue what she was doing and when she jumped up on the hearth I was positive. My little fragile angel was about to dive into her pile. The fear welled up and I jumped to her rescue. Only thing, she didn’t need to be rescued. She was simply doing what kids do. She was playing. No ulterior motive, no thought of what could happen. Just plain old kid kind of fun. I took a deep breath and stepped back. She jumped and landed safely onto her pile. Laughter and joy. She quickly called her brother down. As it turns out, they were playing their version of Wipeout. She told me that it was her job to play because that is how kids are made. She is right. Simple and to the point.

Every day my kids get up with the goal of playing. They don’t have the cares or worries that I do. They are simple, they are wise beyond their years. 

 

So I have come to the conclusion that life isn’t complex, we are. My mom’s illness wasn’t complex either. Aspects were, but ultimately it was black and white. She had pancreatic cancer and it was taking her life. She is gone and I am here. Very simple. I have spent the last year and a half fighting my sadness. I wrote this before but it seems important now. I asked my mom what she wanted me to do after she was gone. She said several things but one sticks out, “be sad and cry Carole, then let it go and move on.” 

I think it is time that I simplify.