It’s Monday, the beginning of another week. Nothing special. Just one day in a string of them. Ordinary. You’re motoring through when something catches your eye. For a moment, you stop, wonder, and move on.
Still the moment sticks with you. It tiptoes through your thoughts now and again, then more often. There’s an allure to it. It’s fascinating. You can’t stop thinking about it, don’t want to start thinking about it. And then, sooner or later, you’re in love.
The first rush of love – the beginning – is overwhelming. Consuming. Intense. Starting something is thrilling. Your emotions careen about. You’re proving yourself. Love is lifting you up.You’re high on the future: massive, infinite, limitless.
Then, you settle in. It’s familiar. The rush is gone, but it’s still warm and comfortable. You’re doing well at the office, coaching Little League, cleaning the garage, going through the days. You’re in Wednesday love. Halfway here, halfway done. Maybe you’re distracted or a little discontent, but it’s all good.
There’s something about that midweek love. You’re not really paying attention in the same way you used to. And that love that lifted you up? It sets your *ss down, and when you’re not looking, it reaches in. Love wraps its fingers around your heart, and lets them rest there. Holding on quietly. Biding it’s time.
Until something happens.
We have a lot of “Mom-isms” in our house.
- “It’s far better to be kind than to be right.”
- “Patience is a virtue.”
- “I love you always and forever, no matter what.”
Mom-isms are great. The thing is, they’re not always right.
The last few weeks have been rough. I’ve become used to this idea that love is infinite, immutable. But, in a way, I’m wrong. I’m at that age when immortality disappears, and vivid, frightening mortality takes over. I’m a member of the “sandwich generation,” caring for my parents and my children at the same time, and while it is a greater blessing than I can ever express, it is also intensely difficult because time is far too present. We had a scare, and now I’m counting how many years, months, days, and minutes we have left. On top of it, a friend lost her husband suddenly. He was a few years younger than I am, with a loving marriage and two, incredible kids.
I’m having a hard time finding a place for it all, which is unlike me. Generally, I power through life. Not so much right now. Time is everywhere. Each second that passes by thunders inside my head. It’s so loud that I can’t think, can’t bottle up the emotions. Frankly, I’m not sure I want to.
You see, I’ve been stuck on Wednesday for a while. I gather it’s natural. Life has been comfortable. Now, it’s not. That bastard Love isn’t sitting around quietly anymore. That hand around my heart is gripping tight, and it hurts like hell. I wish it would stop hurting, but I know that’s not in the cards. You see, I’m awake again. It’s not Wednesday anymore. And while I know it will only get harder, I’m remembering that I’m tough. I’m alive. I remember how strong Love is, and even though it’s not lifting me up like it did in the early days, it’s hold on me is closer, stronger, and more intimate than it ever was before. I’m still in the palm of its hand as its fingers wind around my heart. It braces me – embraces me – as I ready myself for what’s to come… whenever that may be.
So tonight, I will hold them close and hope it will ease the pain, drown out the noise, and bring some peace. Yes, things end. Friday comes. Always is not forever, but it’s incredible while it lasts.