Well, baby, they’re tumblin’ down
And they didn’t even put up a fight
They didn’t even make a sound
I found a way to let you in
But I never really had a doubt
Standin’ in the light of your halo
I got my angel now”
I fell asleep on the couch on Monday night, while watching Rampage with the kids (darnit, I missed the ending), and I also missed staying up after that to set some frameworks for drafts I had to do all week. Since March 2020, sometimes I’m prone to staring into space and feeling impossible, until I stop staring into space and start feeling possible. Then I ride the waves and the loops, and get right back to where I started, and then even further than ever before. I’m not sure I’ll ever get back the focus I used to have, but I think that’s ok as well. I think life requires us to stare into space sometimes, waiting until we feel possible, more colorful, more REAL and 3D, sometimes more than we’ve ever felt. I used to get more down on it, and now I ride the waves instead, knowing that there’s always clear and calm waters ahead, and knowing I might always find the stamina for the big waves as well. I just wait my turn, and the inspiration always hits.
The baby learned to climb stairs that day, although we haven’t had a repeat performance yet. He was stuck and he cried for me, and then the exhaustion wore him out for his nap. At the same time, I realized I was missing a rather large and spiky LEGO piece from Des’ collection, and I got this whole idea in my head that Rider had swallowed it and that’s why he was crying. I couldn’t recover from it, checking on him once, twice, three times, four, and I don’t usually check on him during his naps at all. I just trust that everything is perfect, even if my nightmares are full of rather large and spiky LEGO pieces. The LEGO piece was under the couch, exactly where I had thought it might be, but the morning was ruined. I was overwhelmed, stuck in my nightmare of x-rays and surgeries. Of him never being the same again. Of ME never being the same again.
I find myself in this weird time loop, finger trap, zone lately. I don’t know how else to explain it. A finger trap of time? It’s like how I want time to slow down, so I don’t have to yet panic and gasp through the first days of school, and his first birthday. I’ve never been good at these first days of school and these first birthdays, and for some reason, I feel more ill-prepared than ever for this fall. The gasping enormity of getting to a full year past the magic and sometimes mayhem of those first moments, days, and months. The last ten months have felt like ten years, in some ways, and also like a blink. Three babies and 12 years later, I still never understand what people mean when they say it goes by so fast. It moves differently to me, but I can be overwhelmed and gasping at its suffocating hold over me, measured in milestones, and magic, and mayhem too.
Early in the morning, and late at night, I call to the angels. I’m in this trap; this finger trap. Any which way you go, you can feel time tightening and closing in on you, or opening up wider as well. It’s dizzying. Both directions are just too fast and too much. As much as I want time to slow down, I also want it to speed up, so we can get to yet another better hold on this viral mess. I know it’s out there, as I am part doom and gloom, and part rainbows and sunshine as well. It feels like there’s no end sometimes; it’s just another endless finger trip where both directions make sense, and also, neither direction makes sense. You’re screwed if you do, and screwed if you don’t. There’s also possibility in either direction, as you find yourself stuck between the middle and the ends. Tightening and widening, and throwing you all about. Never really stuck.
Every rule I had you breakin’
It’s the risk that I’m takin’
I ain’t never gonna shut you out”
I find myself more stuck lately, and also more free. They all deserve better of me, but I deserve better of them as well. We need to shoulder one another’s falls, and to be able to fall freely as well. And perhaps that is the hardest part for me; knowing how to put into play all that I have learned about love and grief, and stability, trust and strength and letting go, when it seems both comforting and also terrifying to fall down holes and step on mines I’ve dug and laid before. No, not this time. This time is different, because every time is different, stacked and weighted, but sturdy, against the past and the lessons, and the glorious present shifting to a new narrative, with its new challenges and joys. I time my breaths to their breaths, to sleep to dream for a way out of the traps, where strategy and beauty and freedom lie. I talk to the angels. These angels.
I’m surrounded by your embrace
Baby, I can see your halo
You know you’re my savin’ grace
You’re everything I need and more
It’s written all over your face
Baby, I can feel your halo
Pray it won’t fade away”